Only Forever
by Esareh
Summary: The Goblin King as we know him was not always as we know him. In fact, the Goblin King was barely ever a king at all. The life of Jareth, as told by no one in particular. --Work in progress--
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note--- Absolutely no copyright infringement is intended by the use of Jareth in this story. Jareth belongs to Jim Henson and all associated associates. And besides, if I owned Jareth, I wouldn't be wasting time writing about him. All other characters, however (unless otherwise noted) belong to me._

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"Papa, please!" The fair-haired child cried, clutching desperately onto his father's legs with his small, pale hands. "Mama is trapped inside!"

Flames were licking through the heavily logged walls of the building. The boy's father threw another lit torch into the rapidly disintegrating structure. A scream echoed from inside as part of the roof collapsed.

"Your mother's heart is heavy with evil. The fire will cleanse her." The boy could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. "Consorting with demons. Selling her soul to the highest bidder. And look at you! Wretched child born from the unholy union!"

"Papa, you're talking nonsense!" he wept.

"I AM NOT TALKING NONSENSE!" his father raged. "What sort of unnatural child are you, that animals flee before you, and that the sky darkens with your moods? That the fires in the hearth flare up to match the fire in your mis-matched eyes? That the neighbors milk sours when they snap at you for frolicking in their pasture? That you cannot bear the touch of an iron crucifix?"

"Papa, what are you speaking of?"

"You know damn good and well what I am speaking of!" he raged. "Faerie child! Son of demons! Unholy wretch!"

The boy was weeping openly now, heavy tears that glistened like crystals as they rolled down his round, pale face.

The entire building collapsed.

The boy wailed in agony. "MAMA!" He cried.

"Mama is in Hell now, with her demons. May Satan rest her soul." The drunken, hateful man said, cruelly seizing the boy by his collar and dragging him to the edge of the thick forest.. "Keep warm, Son." he spat cruelly. "It's a cold night." He swaggered off in the direction of the path that lead to the village.

The boy didn't dare follow him. Indeed, the boy was quite incapable of movement, shocked into a miserable stillness by the grotesque sight of the still-burning remains of his home and, essentially, his mother.

"Mama..." the boy whispered. "Oh, Mama! It is all my fault."

Overhead, the clear twilight sky was thickening with a sudden cloak of heavy black clouds.

"If I hadn't gone to the well..."

Lightning flashed in the distance.

"If only I had been here."

Thunder roared.

"If only... if only I had never been born!" they boy pounded the earth with his small fists, and as he did so, a thick curtain of rain began to fall.. Smoke rose into the air as the cooling rain hit the blazing wreck before him, almost immediately annihilating the fire.

"If only I had been able to do that sooner." he whispered, turning and taking off into the thick expanse of trees.

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King Valdrom bolted upright on his throne. A storm had just broken Aboveground. A most unnatural storm with a most unnatural cause. He could sense the magic in the air around him lessening as the storm pulled for more and more, gaining momentum.

"Leave me." Valdrom commanded the court. Confusion hung thickly around them. They, too, had felt the pull. "Now." he said, more firmly this time. The court quickly obeyed, filing swiftly out through the numerous doors that decorated the walls.

Once everyone had gone, Valdrom conjured a glimmering ball of silver.

"Show me the storm." he whispered, holding the ball between his hands. Abruptly, his reflection disappeared and was replaced by the image of a boy running desperately through a tangle of trees, rain soaking through his thin garments as he shivered.

This was the cause of the storm?

Valdrom studied the boy carefully. A child, no more than seven. But Fae. At least partly so. And alone. Completely alone. Something had happened to him. Something terrible. Valdrom ran a hand across the surface of the ball an the image changed. Images flickered desperately. An argument, a man knocking a woman to the floor and storming out, taking a lit torch out of it's holder and setting fire to the outside of the building. The boy returning from the well with a pail of water, his horrified cry when he saw what was happening, throwing the pail of water into the flames in a futile attempt… The roof collapsing, the agonized scream of the woman trapped within. The storm breaking abruptly over the clear sky…

"Enough." Valdrom whispered. "Snort, Crash, Twitch." he called. Three small, leathery creatures appeared before him. "There is a boy in the Aboveground." Valdrom pointed to the silver ball, which had once again taken to reflecting the running boy. "Bring him here."

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The boy ran until his legs burned and his bare feet were raw and bleeding, but still he continued to run. Trees flew past him and soaking piles of leaves and puddles of mud squished under his naked feet. It was raining still, heavier than it was before. The boy was shivering, his ragged garments plastering themselves to his tiny form.

He ran until he was certain he was lost. Huddling up against the base of a tree, the boy brought his hands over his eyes and wept.

"I wish I were in Hell with Mama." he cried. "I wish someone would take me away."

And then he smelled it. That strange scent in the air, heavy and electric, thick like the ozone before a storm and sharp like the sting of a winter wind. That smell that only he could smell. The scent that preluded every accidental instance of wrong-doing on his part, every furious storm or right before the milk spoilt or the farmer near the village lost another cow.

The air crackled around him, powerful and energized. _Magical. _The boy was instantly on alert.

"Where he's at?" the boy heard a whisper.

"Don't know! King say 'Fetch boy.' King doesn't say where boy at." another voice chimed in.

"Well, we's better find him, or King be very angry." a third voice muttered.

"Don't want King to be angry!" the first voice said. "Gotta find boy!"

"King never get angry." the second voice scoffed.

"He do too! You 'member what happened last time King get angry?" the third voice questioned.

There was a momentary pause.

"Find boy!" the second voice cried urgently.

A frantic scuffling followed. The boy couldn't tell from whence the sounds were coming. It seemed like they were coming from all around him, and yet he could see nothing.

"Why it's so wet?" the second voice asked.

"Boy make it rain. Boy have The Power." the third voice responded.

"That's why King want boy?" the first voice asked.

"Yes. Now shut up and find hims!" the third voice commanded.

"Wait. Can't boy hear us?" the second voice queried.

Another pause.

"Hey! Boy!" the first voice called. "Booooy! We know you's here! Where you at?"

"Don't want King get angry!" the third voice cried. The boy didn't know what to do. He was too frightened to cry out, afraid of what would happen. What if his father had told the men in the village that it had been _he _who had burnt down the hut? _He _who had trapped his mother inside? Could news travel that fast to the Northumbrian court? How long had he been running?

"Look! Whas that?" the first voice asked.

"It's boy!" the third voice cried.

"Boy, why you not answer?!" the second voice demanded.

The boy sniffed and sat up straighter as the three intruders came into view. They were short, brown, leathery looking little things with drooping bat-like ears and creased, wrinkly faces. They were dripping wet and clad in filthy, tattered armor. The boy was immediately frightened. He had never seen creatures such as those before him.

"Aww. Boy sad. Crash, why boy sad?" one of the creatures asked another.

"I doesn't know. Does yous know, Snort?" the creature identified as Crash asked the third creature.

"I doesn't know, either. Ask boy. Boy," Snort started. "Why you sad?"

The boy couldn't speak.

Snort put his tiny brown fist on his hip. "Boy rude."

"Come on, we needs to go! King be angry if he kept waiting." Crash hurried.

"Twitch, you takes the boy." Snort commanded.

The third creature walked over to the boy and grabbed his arm. The boy cried out in fear.

"What wrong with you, boy?" Crash demanded. "Why you cry? Why you scared?"

"W-what are you?" the boy stuttered.

"We's goblins." Crash stated.

"G-goblins? Wh-what does the King need with goblins?"

"What else he use? The Fae too high and mighty. Elves too mystical. Dwarves doesn't have enough magic. Fairys too little, bite too much..."

"I hates Fairys..." Twitch muttered.

"Where are we going?" the boy asked in a fearful whisper, fearful because he feared the crown's punishment. His father had told him horrible stories...

"To the Unnerground, of course. Where else we go?" Crash scoffed.

"The Underground?" the boy repeated, wiping the cold rain and the salty tears from his face. He had never heard of that place. He could name all of the kingdoms in Britain, and the Underground wasn't one of them.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Twitch grabbed onto the boy's arm again, and the magic crackled around them once more.

"Hey, boy, what your name?" Snort asked.

"Jareth." the boy sniffed.

And then the four of them disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note--- I don't own Jareth, all other characters (unless otherwise stated) belong to me. Jareth belongs to Henson, etc. etc._

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It occurred to Jareth as they were spinning through darkness that maybe 'Underground' meant Hell. Wasn't Hell supposed to be underground? He _had_ wished for it, after all.

Suddenly his feet hit solid ground. He stumbled a bit, dizzy, before Crash grabbed his arm and steadied him. Jareth blinked to clear his head and gasped. He was in the middle of a vast but empty throne-room, glittering and pale. The cool, sandy colored granite stones beneath his feet were soothing.

"Come on! King waiting!" Snort whispered, nudging the boy forward as he and the rest of the Goblins began to walk down the long strip of pale silk that lead to the intricately carved throne which sat upon a raised dais.

Upon the throne sat a regal looking figure, all sharp features and pale brown hair. Jareth moved forward slowly, terrified. He was cold and shivering, filthy and upset. He didn't _want _to meet the king.

At least he was sure he wasn't in Hell.

"King, we brung boy!" Twitch cried when they reached the end of the dais.

"Yes, I see that." Valdrom said. "A little bit worse for wear, though, isn't he?"

"We finds him like this!" Snort said quickly.

"Honest!" Crash interjected.

"Alright, alright. I'll take your word for it."

Jareth felt like crying again, but he didn't think crying in front of kings was anyway to conduct himself so he bit back the tears and stood absolutely still, waiting.

The whole room smelled like magic, he thought, powerful magic. He could almost taste it.

Valdrom studied the small, pale, wisp of a boy that stood before him. He took in his pale blond hair, his miss-matched blue eyes, and the heavy aura of magic that hung around him like a cloak. If the king had had doubts before, they were gone now. This boy was a Fae, born and bred. Quite impossible that he was the product of a coupling of two humans. Impossible that he was even _half _Fae. Magic hung too thickly in the air around him, flowed too rapidly through his veins.

Who had fathered this strange and powerful boy? Who was his _mother? _Children were not cast away in the Fae court. They were too precious. Too rare. It simply wasn't done.

"Snort, take the boy to the royal nursery. Get him bathed and clothed properly. I am sure that Khormich will enjoy the company." the king commanded.

"Take boy to Prince's nursery?!" Snort was taken a-back. "Common boy to Prince's nursery?"

"Do not argue with me, Snort."

Snort looked down. "Yes, Majesty. Come on, boy." Snort stalked off towards one of the many doors that decorated the walls. Jareth followed him without saying a word.

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"Who are you?" the sandy-haired boy demanded, a small fist on his hip, feet shoulder's width apart.

"Jareth." Jareth said, feeling uncomfortable in the fine clothes he had been dressed in after having been furiously washed clean by a kindly dwarf named Marrey.

"I'm Prince Khormich." the boy said. "And one day I'm going to be King of the whole realm of the Fae." His glassy gray eyes glittered.

"That's very nice for you." Jareth said solemnly.

"Why are you here?" Khormich demanded. "This is _my _nursery, after all."

"I don't know. The King told one of the wrinkly little goblin things to..."

"My father?"

"Well, if you're the prince then that must mean your father is the king." Jareth pointed out. "So yes."

"_He _put you here?"

Jareth stared at the boy. "Didn't I just say that?" he asked incredulously.

"I was just making sure..." Khormich muttered. "Don't look at me like I'm a nitwit."

"Then stop acting like one." Jareth said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

Khormich gaped. "What did you just say?"

"Then stop acting like one." Jareth repeated, annunciating the syllables more clearly this time.

"I'm telling Marrey that you're being mean to me!" Khormich cried. "Then you're going to be punished, because I'm a prince and you're just a nobody."

"Fine, then." Jareth shrugged. "I'll be here waiting."

Khormich didn't move.

"Well? Are you going or not?" Jareth demanded.

"I... I..."

"See, look. You're not going to do it because I'm not afraid."

"That's not true!"

"Then why aren't you going?"

"I... I don't feel like it, that's all." Khormich stuttered. "And," he instantly straightened. "I don't have to do _anything_ I don't want to do."

The boy was beginning to annoy Jareth. He turned and plodded off to sit in the window seat and gasped when he saw the view. A vast, endless field of green spotted with trees spread out as far as his eye could see. Roads zigzagged back and forth, spiraling down hills and through villages. Jareth had never seen anything like it.

"Hey! Don't turn your back on me. I was talking to you!" Khormich ordered, marching over to where Jareth was seated, not paying any attention to the little prince.

"Were you?" Jareth asked, not turning to acknowledge the boy's presence. "I though you were busy not doing anything you didn't want to do."

"I don't like you." Khormich stated.

"I don't care." Jareth said frankly.

"Why are you here?" Khormich demanded again. "Not here, in the nursery I mean, but here in the castle. Where are your parents? Why aren't you with them."

Jareth's eyes filled with tears and he turned away. "I don't have parents."

"Everyone has parents."

"Well, not me." Jareth paused. "Not anymore."

"Well what happened to them?"

Jareth didn't say anything.

"I demand you tell me! No, I _order _you to tell me."

Jareth still didn't say anything, but continued to stare out of the window.

"You can't ignore me! I'm your prince!"

"No you're not." Jareth said suddenly. "You're the prince of... of... what ever it is that lives here. Of all these different kinds of creatures. Of the... the Dwarves and the Goblins and the Fae. I'm not any of those things."

"Yes you are." Khormich was confused. "You're a Fae. Just like me."

"No I'm not. I'm human."

"You're too magical to be human." Khormich said. "I can smell it."

"I'm just... unnatural." Jareth whispered. "Son of demons. Unholy wretch." he quoted. "Not a Fae."

Just then the door swung open and the king strolled in.

"Father, Jareth refuses to admit he's a Fae! I don't think he likes us. I _know _he doesn't like me. He's been mean to me all morning." Khormich all but assaulted his father the second he set foot in the room.

"Calm down, Khormich." Valdrom said, patting the boy on the head. "Jareth has been through quite an ordeal. Let him be."

"But Father, he---"

"Let him be."

"Yes father." Khormich sighed.

"Jareth is going to be staying with us for quite some time, so you had best learn to get along with him."

"How long is... quite some time?" Jareth asked.

"Well, you haven't anywhere else to go, do you?" the king asked.

"No." Jareth said quietly.

"So what does it matter?"

"I'm not one of you." Jareth whispered. "I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere."

"Quite the contrary, actually."

"Told you." Khormich said.

"Khormich..." his father's voice was stern.

Khormich fell silent.

"You belong here. With us."

Jareth's eyes were wide.

"Forever." Valdrom said.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: First off, I want to thank everyone who took the time to review my story. Your comments mean a lot to me, really they do. I'd also like to note that this story is pre-written up to chapter five, and after that, I got nothing. Well, you know. I know what's going to happen. I've just yet to write it down in decipherable story format. But what I'm getting at is this; these every-day updates aren't going to be the norm. I mean, it's not going to be like a once-a-month kind of thing. More like once a week or something along those lines. Work, you know. Darn employment always keepin' me down. Oh, and I swear I know how to format dialogue and paragraphs properly (I.E. indentations) but I'm having some trouble figuring out how to use this strange document system (which completly un-formats my uploaded documents) and every time I hit tab, it hits the save button. So I don't know what to do. If anyone could shed some light, that would be lovely. :)_

_Also would like to reiterate that I don't own Jareth. Nope. Not even a little bit. The ol' chap belongs to Henson and company. And not to me. Sadly._

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"Your Majesty, if the boy is, as you say, of pure Fae lineage, then determining his parentage should be a simple matter obtaining a drop of his blood and---"

"That spell is only effective if both parents are still living, Kaevan, you know that." King Valdrom interrupted, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. An impromptu gathering of the High Assembly had been requested as soon as word had gotten out that a mortal-raised Fae child had been brought to the castle. Valdrom had had no choice but to agree.

"What makes you so sure that they are not?" a voice from farther down the table questioned.

"The boy was being raised by mortals. When is the last time you heard of such a thing happening? A Fae child purposely left in the care of _humans_? It simply isn't done."

"Still, it might be beneficial to perform the spell on the off chance that---"

"And get the boy's hopes up only to dash them?" Valdrom interrupted.

"The boy does not have to know." the Fae man said. "A drop of his blood would be the only thing required from him."

"The boy will want to know." Valdrom declared. "He is not as fool as you might think."

"All children are fools. It is the nature of youth." another Fae chimed in.

"As a child, you would have disagreed with that statement." Kaevan said wisely.

"Because I was a fool."

"This meeting was called so that we might determine what is to be done with the child, not so that we might uncover his parentage or argue the precocity of children!" Someone at the end of the table cried.

The table quieted somewhat.

"Thank you, Ailin." the king said.

"Majesty, what do you propose we do with the boy?"

"I had thought to keep him here in my household until he comes of an age that I might---"

Protests arose almost immediately.

"Can you imagine the implications of such an adoption?"

"Would you disinherit Prince Khormich?"

"Such a thing is completely unheard of!"

"There are many Fae couples that have been waiting centuries to have a child. Is it not somewhat selfish of you…

"Do you not think it would be better to---"

"Enough!" Valdrom roared. "I have thought this decision through from every angle. I have no intention of disinheriting my son, nor do I believe that any _implications _would arise should I decide to adopt the boy into my household.

"Furthermore, it would be unwise to release him into the home of some unsuspecting noble. He lacks the control over his magic that other Fae children learn naturally as they grow. He has been reared in a world completely devoid of natural magic, and now he has been thrust into one where magic lingers in the very air, eager to do someone's bidding. It would be _fool_ indeed to send him away from here, where the magic of the Seelie court would do no good should he lose control."

"If the boy is _dangerous _then I hardly think---"

"The boy is only dangerous because he lacks control." Valdrom corrected.

"I can see that you are quite adamant in this decision." Ailin said.

"I am."

"Your Majesty, you mean to raise a common boy alongside the heir to the throne of the entire Underground? Such a thing is… is…" the Fae stuttered.

"Since we have no way of determining his parentage, we have no way of determining whether or not he is, as you say, common." Valdrom argued. "Not that it would make a difference one way or another. The child needs a home and I am offering him one."

"Majesty, if I might be so bold…" A voice from Valdrom's left began.

"You may not, Carden." Valdrom said sharply.

"Perhaps the fact that you are so willing to adopt this child into your household springs from the fact that your wife is… ah…" Carden paused. "Estranged. And it is always prudent to have a backup plan should the current heir meet an unfortunate end as was the case with your elder brother."

The room fell completely silent.

"You have overstepped yourself." Valdrom hissed.

"My apologies, Majesty."

"Get out of my sight." the king ordered. "You are banished from these chambers until I say otherwise."

Carden rose from his chair and bowed before leaving the room.

"Does anyone else care to make a similar comment?"

The room remained silent.

"It is settled then. The boy will remain here."

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"Don't do that." Jareth snapped for the hundredth time as Khormich tugged on a lock of his hair. Jareth had quickly come to realize that the boy couldn't stand not being the center of attention and had abruptly and intentionally turned his attention away from him.

"Look here, Gerald! What are you doing?"

"Jareth." he corrected, knowing full well Khormich was getting his name wrong on purpose, as it was the eighth time in the past twenty minutes that he'd needed to be corrected. "And what do you _think _I'm doing?"

"Well, it _looks _as if you've been staring out of that window for ages, but I can't imagine how that's what you could have possibly been doing since it seems like such a dreadfully boring thing to do."

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"It's none of your business." Jareth sniffed.

Khormich tugged on another piece of Jareth's hair. "One day, I'm going to be king of everything you see outside of that window and everything that lives there, and it _will _be my business to know."

"I'll tell you then."

"You're not very respectful!"

"And you talk too much." Jareth retorted.

"Do not."

"Do to."

"Do not!"

"Look, you're talking right now."

"So are you!"

"But _I'm _making a point."

"Well so am I!"

"What is it, then?"

"That I don't talk too much."

"So," Jareth began. "you're trying to prove that you don't talk too much by… talking?"

"Yes?" confusion momentarily flickered through Khormich's ocher eyes.

"Then you've just _dis_proven your point." Jareth crossed his arms.

Khormich gaped for a moment before becoming furious.

"You tricked me!" he accused.

"I did no such thing."

"Did to!"

"My son, I think you've been defeated." came Valdrom's amused voice from the doorway.

"No, because he tricked me!" Khormich protested. "It wasn't fair!"

"I did not." Jareth argued. "You just didn't think enough."

"And now he called me stupid!"

"I did _not_!"

"You just did! You just said that I didn't---"

Valdrom cleared his throat. Khormich immediately fell silent and turned his attention respectfully back to his father, where Jareth, who had also fallen silent, continued to glare at Khormich.

"I see that not much progress has been made on getting along." he commented wryly. "Do try harder."

"Yes, Father."

"Tomorrow Jareth will be joining you in all of your private lessons---"

"Private lessons?" Jareth interrupted excitedly. "Like mathematics and geography and history writing and reading and---"

"Can you not read?" Khormich demanded.

"I…" Jareth paused. "I can read a little bit." he said defensively.

"Did no one teach you?"

"Obviously not." Jareth snapped. His father, a merchant, could well afford to educate his son but hadn't wanted to waste the money.

"I would very much like to read." Jareth respectfully said to Valdrom.

"And so you shall." Valdrom promised.

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"L." Jareth said, pointing at the letter inscribed on the heavy parchment before him.

"Good! And what sound does it make?" The kindly Fae woman asked.

"Llll." Jareth rolled the letter on his tongue.

"Excellent!"

"Now what happens if I put it next to this letter?" the woman scribbled a tidy A next to the l. "What sound does that make?"

"Laa." he pronounced.

"What sound does this letter make?" the woman scratched a J onto the parchment.

"Juh." Jareth repeated. "Just like my name. Juh-areth." he annunciated.

The woman wrote out the rest of Jareth's name on the paper.

"Is that my name?" Jareth asked excitedly. "J-A-R-E-T-H. Juh-air-eth. Jareth. It is my name!"

"You're a fast learner."

"Faster than Khormich?" Jareth demanded. The entire day the two boys had been locked in an unspoken competition.

"Well now. Khormich was a good deal younger than you when he began his lessons…"

"So I _am_ faster!" Jareth exclaimed. He couldn't wait to tell Khormich.

"Now, I didn't say that."

"But you implied it." Jareth pointed out.

The woman shook her head and smiled. Boys would be boys. One always trying to show up the other.

"I think that's enough for one day, don't you?" she asked, rolling up the parchment. "We can resume this tomorrow."

Jareth looked disappointed. Now that he could read his name, he wanted to know how to write it.

"His Majesty is down the hall with the prince teaching him how to control his magic. He told me to send you as soon as we were finished here."

He instantly brightened.

"You'd better hurry!" the woman encouraged.

The boy tore off down the hallway at an excited and breakneck pace. Magic! It was a wonderful thought. He wouldn't have to hide it anymore.

Jareth pushed through a door at the end of the hallway. Magic instantly flooded the air around him, thick, sweet, and heavy.

"Oh, Jareth! Look at what _I _can do!" Khormich cried immediately upon spotting Jareth. He cupped his empty hands together and closed his eyes before separating his hands. Sand dropped to the floor. "I bet _you _can't do anything _that _impressive." he sniffed. "Not that I'd expect you to be able to what with having been raised by _humans. _I'm surprised you even know what magic is. I feel kind of sorry for you, really. A Fae without magic is hardly a Fae at all. It's a good thing I'm so nice. Anyone else would call you a dimwitted fool for not knowing how to do magic. Which, of course, you are, but I'm too nice to say so."

Jareth made an angry gesture, and, abruptly, the building tension in the room to snapped and the tiny pile of sand at Khormich's feet began to glow white-hot and twist into a ball. The ball glowed brightly for a second more before becoming a shining transparent crystal. The crystal was suddenly in Jareth's hand, flickering angrily as orange bolts danced inside of it. Jareth blinked, astonished.

"How did you do that?" Khormich demanded.

"I… I don't know." Jareth stuttered, staring wide-eyed at the crystal.

"Uncontrolled magic is very dangerous." Valdrom said, waving a hand at the crystal. It disappeared. "You haven't been taught control, Jareth, so your magic runs rampant when your emotions run high."

"But I can control some of it." Jareth protested. "So isn't it just the same to control all of it, just… harder because there's more to control?

"Partly, yes." Valdrom said. "But that's only half of it. Manipulating the magic to do what you want it to is a fairly simple concept. Keeping the magic under control when you _do not _want it to do anything is the difficult part. At least to begin with."

"So… Control is the reverse of manipulation?" Jareth said aloud. "That doesn't make much sense. Aren't control and manipulation the same thing? If you're keeping the magic quiet then you're still manipulating it, you're just not making it do anything."

"In theory, yes."

"So it will be easy, then." Jareth affirmed.

"Don't be so certain."

Jareth was entirely certain.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who's taken the time to review! Much loveth to you all. I'd also like to clear something up about what I needed help with. I was actually talking about indentations, not line spacing. But I've decided that I guess it doesn't really matter, anyway. So thanks to everyone who tried to help! =D I'm not going to bother single-spacing anymore since it looks bad without indentations, and I'll probably go back and double space the other chapters I've put up, as well. Just so you're not all confused and disoriented should you happen to wander back to a previous chapter and think you're losing your mind/memory._

_And sadly, Jareth is still not mine. He doth belongeth to Jim Henson and Company. _

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"This cannot be allowed to continue."

Valdrom pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I realize this, Kaevan, thank you."

"Perhaps it is time for the boy's magic lessons to come to an end." suggested Crevhan.

"That is entirely out of the question. He _must_ learn control."

"Looks to me as if he's got a great deal of control." Ailin said wryly. "I've never seen anything quite like this."

"It _is _rather impressive." Kaevan agreed. "For a boy of his age, especially."

The three Fae men once again turned their attention to the prince. He walked around the room on a set course, holding one sided conversations and playing with objects that were no longer there. Valdrom remembered snippets of these conversations as things he and Khormich had spoken of the day before while Jareth was with his tutor. Impossible that Jareth could have known what was going on in another room. Known enough to create what would have had to have been a very strong illusion. So what had he done?

"Has anyone found Jareth yet?"

"No, Your Majesty. Siridean and Carden have been searching everywhere. Underneath the beds in the unused chambers, behind statues in the garden, inside of cupboards and such…"

"It is no wonder they haven't found him. The boy always hides in plain sight. He will be in the last place you would think to look for him because it is the _first _place you would think to look for him. Check in his bedroom or perhaps the throne room."

"Yes, my Lord." Crevhan departed, leaving Valdrom and his right-hand man to deal with the prince.

"This is the fourth time this month that he's done something like this." Valdrom sighed. "He has broken through every guard I've put on Khormich… he has even broken through guards I've put on _him _to stop him from using his magic unsupervised! I don't know what to do with him."

"I wouldn't worry too terribly much about it. This sort of thing has a way of working it's self out."

"Yes, I suppose. And I do not believe Jareth would ever hurt him. It seems to me as if Jareth is simply trying to get him out of his hair for awhile. He can be a bit of a handful at times…"

Ailin scoffed at the understatement.

"He will grow out of it." Valdrom said hopefully. "I just don't understand why Khormich doesn't defend himself. He knows the maneuvers, Jareth does not. He has the advantage, so why does he not just---"

"He wants to get me in trouble." Jareth interrupted, casually walking up behind Valdrom and Ailin. "He thinks it's funny."

"Where have you been hiding?" Valdrom asked. "Carden and Siridean have been looking for you."

"I know. I just passed them in the hall." Jareth yawned.

"What did you do to him this time?"

"I made his eyes see only yesterday."

"How did you do that?"

"It wasn't hard. They've already seen it." Jareth shrugged. "It kept him out of the study until I could finish my book, at any rate."

"Jareth, you can't do this every time you wish to be left alone."

"I wouldn't have to if he would actually leave me alone." Jareth said stubbornly, crossing his small arms over his chest and pouting.

Valdrom sighed. "I wish that you two would simply learn to get along."

"We get along fine… sometimes…" Jareth trailed off.

Valdrom shook his head and turned his attention back to his son. As soon as he stopped moving, Valdrom swooped in and covered the boy's eyes with his hands. A quick flash of light left Khormich blinking.

"What… what happened?" he wondered aloud, rubbing his eyes. "You!" he cried abruptly, spotting Jareth and pointing an accusatory finger. "Punish him, Father! He cursed me!"

"Did not." Jareth argued.

"Don't listen to him, Father, he cursed me!"

Jareth scoffed and looked away. "…did not." He muttered. "But I will if you provoke me again, you big headed little---"

"Enough." Valdrom commanded firmly. Both boys froze, wide-eyed and staring at Valdrom as he stooped down to their level. "This is the last time that I will ask the two of you to make a more serious effort to coexist peacefully. The _last _time. Am I understood?" His tone left no room for incomprehension.

Both boys nodded solemnly "Excellent." The king straightened, tucking a stray lock of sandy hair behind his slightly pointed ear. "Run along now. Remember my words."

Both boys took off running down the hallway, leaving a thick trail of magic behind them as they went. Jareth's quickly overpowered Khormich's, and soon no trace of Khormich's ever having been there remained.

"And you remember mine, prince-ling." Jareth's hiss echoed back down the hallway.

"I've never seen someone so determined to have his own at something." Valdrom said, shaking his head. He froze, feeling Jareth's magic still hanging in the air. "He shouldn't be this powerful. Were he older, I could understand this difference in power between him and Khormich, but he is so young… Equal in age to Khormich, if I am not mistaken. I don't understand from whence this power came."

"Mayhap it will even out when he ages. The way very tall boys and very short boys always end up the same height. You said yourself that the boy's power is unstable because he had been reared for so long away from the court." Ailin said wisely. "Perhaps it is just Khormich's natural control that is keeping his power so quiet."

----------

"Why do you hate me?" Khormich asked, tugging on Jareth's hair, which had grown considerably longer and more feather-like since he had joined the court several months before.

"I don't hate you." Jareth said, sitting in the window seat, flipping indifferently through the pages of a book he had taken out of the study. "I think you're incredibly annoying, big-headed, and spoiled, but I don't hate you."

"Then why do you keep cursing me?"

"I told you, I'm not cursing you. I'm enchanting you."

"What's the difference?"

"One is always meant to cause harm, and the other isn't."

"Oh."

"And I only do it so you'll leave me alone." Jareth explained.

"Why don't you just ask me?"

Jareth scoffed. "I always ask you. Remember? Today I said 'Please, Khormich, I'm practicing my reading. Can we talk about this later?' and you said 'I'll be your king one day. I'll stay if I want to.' Do you remember?"

"Oh."

"If you wouldn't do those kinds of things, I think we would get along much better."

"But…" Khormich began. "It's true, isn't it? I _will_ be your king one day. You have to listen to me."

Jareth began to protest but Khormich stopped him.

"No, don't. Let me finish." The little boy inhaled deeply. "No one listens to me. No one cares one little bit about what I have to say. Oh, sure. Everyone pretends to. They smile fake smiles and nod their heads but the second they turn around they've forgotten what I've said. I have no control over anyone. They always say 'We'll go ask your father.' and 'You shouldn't concern yourself with things like that.' I just… I just want one person to see me as more than the king's little son.

"Then here you come, a nobody. No one knows who your parents are, no one knows where you came from. You've been with humans your whole life. You had no idea this place even existed. I thought that maybe you, at least, would listen to me. I hoped that you would be so afraid and lost that you'd hang on to my every word, but you're just like the rest of them." he paused. "Maybe only worse, because you don't even pretend to care."

"Would you rather I pretend?" Jareth asked.

"No. I want you to really care."

"If you would stop bossing me around, I wouldn't ignore you so much."

"But then you'd never do what I want you to."

"I don't anyway." Jareth plucked a crystal sphere out of the air and began to toy with it in his hands.

"Why do you do that?"

"What?" Jareth asked. "This?" he twirled the sphere in his fingers.

"Yes."

Jareth shrugged. "It's fun. And you can put magic inside of them."

"Doesn't it take magic to put magic in the ball?" Khormich asked.

"A little bit."

"Then what's the point?"

"To catch people by surprise." Jareth threw the crystal at the wall. As soon as it hit, tiny fragments of green flew everywhere and soft, green grass covered the floor of the room.

"How do you know how to do these things?" Khormich demanded.

Jareth shrugged. "You just have to… want to do them. Concentrate. It's easy."

"That's not fair." The sandy-haired boy grumbled, kicking at the grass under his feet. "I've been doing magic way longer and it's not like you're ever going to need to be this strong anyway…" he ranted.

Jareth snapped his fingers and the grass disappeared.

"Do be quiet."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"_Please _be quiet."

Khormich crossed his arms. "You're ornery."

"Better than being obnoxious, don't you think?"

"Are you calling me obnoxious?"

"Yes."

"Why are you so mean?" Khormich whined.

"You just called me ornery!"

"Because you are!"

"And you're obnoxious!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am. Not!"

"Yes. You. Are!"

"Boys." Valdrom interrupted, his hand firmly planted on his hip. "I hope you weren't _arguing._"

"Uh… Father!" Khormich cried. "We were… um…"

"We were warming up for a play." Jareth improvised. "Getting the characters right."

"Really now." Valdrom cocked an eyebrow. His tone dripped disbelief.

"Yes! A play!" Khormich agreed. "It's called… er…"

"The Obnoxious Little Prince." Jareth said.

Khormich glared. "And his Idiot Playmate." he added.

"Yes. The Obnoxious Little Prince and his Idiot Playmate." Jareth gritted. "We wrote it."

"We were going to surprise you, Father, but you've gone and ruined it." Khormich pouted.

"What a shame!" Valdrom exclaimed. "Well then, since I'm here, why don't you perform it now? I am nothing if not a patron of the arts." he settled down on the window seat, crossing one leg over his knee. "Let's see it, then!"

"Er…" Khormich balked.

"Well, come on, Khormich. Don't get stage-fright now." Jareth reprimanded. "This was your idea, after all."

Khormich glared again.

"Um… Part One." The boy announced, folding his hands and facing his father. "The Gracious Prince Greets his Playmate." he turned to Jareth. "Good day, Sir Goopy. I hope I find you well." The boy attempted his most regal posture.

Jareth's mismatched eyes narrowed. "Quite well indeed, good Prince Patty-Cake."

"Good. Good." Khormich faded, out of things to say.

"I believe you had planned for us to go for a walk through the gardens, Your Most Royal Pastry."

"Yes. Of course." Khormich hissed. "Come then, my idiot playmate. Let us walk."

The two boys pretended to walk through a garden.

Valdrom watched the unfolding scene with laughter in his eyes.

"Part Two." Jareth announced suddenly. "The Dragon."

"Dragon?" Khormich demanded incredulously. "You can't be serious. That's the stupidest thing I've ever---"

"Duck, Prince Patty-Cake! The dragon is blowing fire!" Jareth tackled Khormich to the ground.

"Hey! That really hurt! What did you do that for?!" Khormich whined.

"Quick, Prince Patty-Cake! Your sword! Slay the dragon!"

"No! I'm not doing this anymore. This is stupid. You hurt my knee and I'm---"

"Part Three!" Jareth cried. "The Dragon Brutally Kills the Prince Because he was Too Stupid to Fight!"

"This isn't fair! I said I wasn't playing anymore!"

"Quit ruining the play!"

"I'm not ruining anything!"

"Yes you are!"

"Am not!"

Valdrom cleared his throat.

"Ah… Part Four!" Khormich exclaimed.

"The Dead Prince and his Playmate Learn to get Along and Live Happily Ever After." Jareth said, putting an arm around Khormich shoulders.

"The end!" Khormich said.

The boys bowed.

"Excellent work, boys." Valdrom applauded. "I am glad to see that so much progress has been made since this morning." his tone was wry and implicative of disbelief. "Now, to the original purpose of my visit." He stood. "I have received word that in three days, the Wise Woman, the great seer, will be gracing the court with her presence." He turned his attention to Jareth. "She has heard tell of your coming."

"She's coming to see me?" Jareth asked. "Why?"

"Because you don't have parents." Khormich said in a rare moment of insight.

"Oh."

"That's not…" Valdrom trailed off. Most likely, that was, in fact, the reason for her visit. Looking back through his years, Valdrom could not think of a time when a Fae child turned up unaccounted for.

"Told you." Khormich gloated.

"You say that like… like it's some sort of insult." Jareth scoffed. "Ooh, Jareth doesn't have parents. Ha ha." he imitated Khormich's voice. "That doesn't make me any better or worse than you."

"I wasn't supposed to be an insult."

"It sounded like one." Jareth pouted.

"In light of the up-coming event, I would like the two of you to be on your best behavior. Do you understand?"

The boys nodded.

"Particularly in the presence of the Wise Woman. I shall have new garments made for the both of you, and I suppose I shall have to find someone who can teach you proper court etiquette, Jareth." he added as an afterthought. "I would teach you myself, but I fear I shall be too busy with a flurry of unnecessary preparations for the next three days to find time to even breathe."

"Is there a book I could read?" Jareth asked enthusiastically, eager for a chance to practice his reading.

"I believe we might have something in the grand study that would suffice."

"I'll go look for it!" Jareth ran off excitedly.

"Do I _have_ to get new clothes?" Khormich asked unhappily, thinking back to the last time when the tailor stuck him rather too fiercely with a pin in the arm when he wouldn't stand still.

"I'm afraid so, my boy."

"I hope Jareth gets stuck, this time." he grumbled.

----------------

"Red." Khormich demanded, pointing to the shining bolt of red fabric. "Father favors red, so I want red."

Jareth stared wide-eyed at the array of rich fabrics amassed around him. Never in his short life had he seen so many rich materials gathered in one place. His father would sometimes stumble into the house, toting a bolt of something-or-other that he was sure would bring in a good sum, though Jareth himself had never worn anything finer than homespun. His eyes were drawn to a dusty blue, gossamer fabric that sat forgotten in the corner.

"That one!" he declared, pointing. "I want that one."

"You doesn't want that ol' junks." the old goblin tailor muttered. "How abouts this?" the goblin gestured towards a length of deep blue, shimmering fabric. "Is silk. Costly human fabric from… Chenar. Or Chuna. Or somfin."

"Use both." Jareth suggested. "Use the darker color for the tunic and then the lighter one for a… a coat, or a cape, or a cloak." he hit upon the idea with glee. "A cloak that trails the floor and clasps in the front with something silvery!"

"A cloak for court function?" the goblin asked incredulously. "You outta your head, boy?"

"No one has ever said anything about wearing cloaks to court functions." Jareth argued. "I want a cloak."

"So do I!" chimed in Khormich. "Except, I want mine in cloth of gold."

"Gold is too showy."

"I _should_ be showy. I'm a price." Khormich stood straighter.

"Cloakses for a court function…" muttered the tiny goblin, pushing the bolt of blue silk across the floor. "Never in alls my days has I ever heard a somfin more ridicalus… Yous gonna look back on dis one day when yous older and more wiser and yous gonna think 'Boy, sure do wish I hadda listent to dat ol' tailor. Sure did knows what he was talkin' bout. But no. I hads to go and make a fool a myself.' You marks my words…"

Khormich and Jareth shared a rare chuckle.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Nope. Still don't own Jareth. Property of Jim Henson is still tatooed across his face. And you all thought it was makeup. _

"Ouch! Marrey, you're. Brushing. Too. Hard!" Khormich wailed as the dwarf ran the silver comb furiously through the boy's tangled hair.

"You has to look your best." the dwarf said stiffly. "Why yous had to pick today of all days to hide from that boy in the garden shrubberies I'll never understand." she muttered.

"He was seeking! I had to hide _somewhere_!"

"So yous picked the shrubberies." Marrey clicked her tongue.

Khormich sniffed with pride. "He didn't find me."

"I wasn't looking." Jareth stated, straightening the silver clasp of his cloak before a big, gleaming mirror.

"I was in those bushes for hours!" Khormich cried.

Jareth laughed and Marrey rolled her eyes.

"Don't look so mad." Jareth said. "I told you I didn't want to play."

"You agreed when I said I'd hide!"

"Did not. I didn't even say anything when you said you'd hide. I just walked away."

"I thought you were going to go count!"

"Thought wrong, didn't you?"

"So I hid in those bushes all that time for nothing?!"

"Don't make it sound like it's _my _fault." Jareth scoffed haughtily, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tunic. "I _told _you I wasn't playing."

"But---"

"Boys, yous remember what the king said. Best behavior." Marrey reprimanded. The pair looked appropriately chastised.

Jareth took one final look in the mirror, still not quite able to believe that the dashing boy in blue staring back at him was himself. The fine material felt strange against his skin. Foreign. He wanted to laugh. To scream, maybe. Two months ago… he almost couldn't bear to think of what had happened two months ago… two months ago, places like this only existed in his wildest dreams. No, not even in his wildest dreams. He wasn't aloud to dream of such things. He almost couldn't believe this turn his life had taken. He lay awake every morning with his eyes stubbornly shut, afraid that if he opened them he would find himself back in the forest, wet and shivering. Dying.

Jareth turned on his heel and made for the door, intending to spend a few final minutes alone before what he imagined would be an extremely loud, extravagant celebration.

Valdrom couldn't figure out what was wrong. He had taken the utmost care whilst laying the spell. Not a single detail had gone overlooked. So why, then, did the ensorcelled flowers refuse to bloom? He had tried everything he could think of, but the buds steadily refused to burst. The banquet was set to begin in an hour; the tables had been set, the banners hung, the décor properly distributed… and yet the ropy vines of flowers that twisted up pillars, around statues, and around the ceiling-arches refused to bloom. The king could not remember the last time one of his spells had failed. Surely not since his youth.

"What kind of flowers are these?" Jareth asked, startling Valdrom out of his contemplation. The boy had been surprised to find the king standing alone in the middle of the vast room, concentrating deeply on the small, green buds that decorated the walls.

"Stubborn ones." Valdrom answered, not tearing his eyes away from the offending plants.

"Why are they stubborn?"

"Because they won't bloom."

"Oh." Jareth tilted his head, considering the vines. "There's a tangle."

"What?"

"There's a tangle." Jareth repeated, squinting as he plucked at an invisible string in the air above his head. Abruptly, the thousands of tiny buds burst into bloom, invading the room with a blast of color and fragrance.

Valdrom stared, shocked at the boy. How had this little slip of a boy, not two months into magic lessons, learned to see magic-lines? How, when he himself, High King of the Underground, therefore the most powerful Fae in the realm, could not? It was a skill both his brother and father, both High Kings before him, had possessed. Valdrom had always seen it as a shortcoming, that he could not. "How did you do that?" he demanded.

Jareth was suddenly frightened. Had he done something wrong? "I… I've always seen webs from magic. Back… before… in England… every time I accidentally… there was always a web and sometimes I could cross it to stop something from… I didn't mean…"

"The reading of magic-lines is very… rare." Valdrom said at last.

"Oh."

"Is that how you've been breaking through my guard spells?"

"I only have to cross one thread…" Jareth trailed off.

Valdrom now realized the near-impossibility of restraining Jareth's somewhat volatile magic. "We will discuss this later. In the mean time, I would ask that you return to the nursery to wait with Khormich until I call for you."

Jareth bowed his head and all but sprinted out of the room. Valdrom stared after him, shocked still, and unsure what to think of this new development.

Jareth had picked through his dinner listlessly, though he made sure to hold his knife in just the right way as he cut into his meat and never let the metal touch his teeth when he ate, just like the thick, leather-bound tome he had found in the library in reference to court manners had instructed. He was much too distracted to eat. The entire court was gathered at the long table, glittering in an array of colors and textures that excited his eyes in ways he'd never thought possible. Strange bits of conversation would now and then reach his ears, sometimes in languages he had never heard, sometimes in ones he had.

The king sat at the head of the table in an elaborately carved chair, just a fraction taller than everyone else. He spoke pleasantly now and then to those who addressed him, though most of the time his eyes rested on Jareth. Jareth did his best to ignore this, choosing instead to stare down the long table or at the bright blooms that covered the walls. Khormich sat to the left of his father, and Jareth sat at the corner of the table, catty-cornered from Khormich. Jareth couldn't decide whether or not this meant he was to be viewed by the gathered court as another of the king's children, as the book had dictated that a king's eldest son would be sat at the edge of the table, his queen in between them (however, in this case, no queen was present,) and the second son next to the eldest at the closest corner. It could also mean that he was to be viewed as Khormich's left hand, second only to the king in importance to the eldest prince. Or perhaps he had simply been put there for lack of a more appropriate place. After all, Jareth mused, the book hadn't specified where to put an orphan Fae child who had only recently been thrown into the lap of the king.

The seat to the right of the king, meant for the guest of honor, remained empty. The Wise Woman had not arrived yet.

"Maybe she decided you weren't important enough." Khormich whispered when he caught Jareth looking at the empty seat.

"Maybe." Jareth agreed. Khormich looked thwarted and turned his attention back to his dinner.

As the meal drew to a close, whispers began to arise from the gathered court about the conspicuous absence of the Wise Woman. Had the king been mistaken? Well, it had been a lovely banquet, anyway.

Abruptly, the massive oaken doors at the end of the dining-hall burst open.

"It seems that I have missed your superfluous celebration." the aged woman called, surveying the empty plates and exhausted platters as she began a slow decent down the long room. Heads bowed respectfully as she passed. "Meaning I am right on time."

"We are honored by your presence, Wise Woman." Valdrom spoke on behalf of the court.

"Where is the boy?" she asked.

"Jareth, stand." Valdrom gestured towards the blue-clad boy and he nervously rose to his feet and turned. Hundreds of glittering eyes turned their curious attention to him.

"So," the Wise Woman murmured. "The king has at last returned."


	6. Chapter 6

The silence was palpable. Confused glances were exchanged up and down the table, inevitably ending with all sets of eyes resting on Jareth.

"I'm afraid that I do not understand your meaning." Valdrom said quietly after several moments of agonizing silence.

"Eahanan." A name, and nothing more, was the Wise Woman's reply.

"Impossible." The king whispered. "Impossible. My brother's son is dead." his words were slowly spoken. Deliberate.

"How say you that, when the boy himself stands before you?"

"It is not possible. Eahanan is dead." Valdrom repeated.

"Not so, Heir-Apparent, not so. Do you doubt me?"

"How can I help but doubt?" he demanded, rising to his feet. "My sister, my dear, sweet sister and my brother's wife were murdered by a mortal and Eahanan disappeared without a trace. My brother returned, blood-spattered and bemoaning the death of his loved ones… He begged me to leave the room so that he could take his own life in dignity and silence, and when I refused he forced me out of the room with the most violent burst of magic I've ever been subjected to." his words were flying quickly, as if the memory were too heavy to linger over. "The sheer impossibility of what you are saying… what it could mean…"

"Misunderstandings lead to the delusion of impossibility. The humans who took the lives of the old queen and princess royal could not bring themselves to end the life of an infant with their own hands. They left the princeling in the forest where his cries roused a peasant woman, whose own babe had succumbed to the ravages of poverty while her husband was away. She took the child and passed him off as her own." the woman paused as her last words echoed off of the high ceiling. "Now, I must ask of you, Prince, how you did not recognize the haze of your own bloodline hanging around this child."

Valdrom couldn't speak, but only stare dumbly at Jareth, who shifted uncomfortably in his soft leather shoes. He couldn't decide what to feel. Didn't know what to think. He resorted instead to staring at the fine lines in the stone floor, content, for once, to leave the situation in the hands of the adults.

"Eahanan." Valdrom said at last, his voice thick with emotion. "I never dared to hope… the improbability of it… I should have suspected, should have known…" he trailed off into silence.

"Hail the king." broke a voice somewhere near the end of the table. A chanting chorus of 'Hail the king' rose up around the table.

Jareth looked up from the floor.

"Blessed be king Eahanan." murmured the multitude.

"No," Jareth called suddenly, though no one heard him over the din, except, perhaps, for the Wise Woman.

Valdrom stared Jareth dead in the face. "Hail the king Eahanan." he murmured, stepping down from the dais.

"No." Jareth said again, firmly this time, his small voice crackling loudly over the noise. A hurried hush fell over the table. "I am not a king… I am not Eahanan."

"He doesn't understand, your maje--- Valdrom," began Ailin. "You must explain---"

"I understand perfectly." Jareth corrected. "But I… I am not Eahanan anymore. I was… hardly ever Eahanan to begin with. I have only ever been Jareth. I can't be anyone else. I don't know _how _to be anyone else. It would be wrong to put… everything in my unprepared hands. Wrong for everyone." he paused. "I don't want… I _renounce_ this title." he turned to Valdrom. "Hail the king."

The words were met with silence.

Jareth surveyed the silent courtiers, mismatched eyes flickering up and down the long lines of Fae gathered around the table. "Rule well your silent kingdom." he said before turning sharply and marching towards the heavy double doors that sat closed on the opposite wall. All eyes followed him as he moved.

The Wise Woman cackled wildly. "Will none of you here swear fealty to your past-and-future king?" she demanded.

"None will, for I am not the true king. The power of the land rests in the boy. I cannot---"

"Power is not a king make, Ruling Raven. The effectiveness of a king is determined by what he has done, not the means he used to do it." the Wise Woman said. "You owe it to the boy, you _all _owe it to the boy, to honor his wishes. His decision was purely selfless, made for the good of all of you. How many of you here can say with pure truth that you would have done the same?"

Silence still hung, unbroken.

"You owe it to the boy." she repeated as her eyes went glassy. "For he will live to regret it."

"Hail the king." someone ventured.

"Hail the king." whispered the rest.

----------

Khormich stared dumbly at Jareth as the two boys readied for bed.

"What?" Jareth demanded finally, throwing down his shoes in the corner and spinning to face Khormich. "What?"

"You gave up everything."

"I never _had _anything."

"You've been king your whole life and you didn't even know it." Khormich argued. "You've _always_ had _everything_."

"But it doesn't matter, because I didn't know."

"What you did… you didn't have to do it."

"I did have to. It's better that I did. For everyone."

"This whole time I thought you were a nobody and really you were king." Khormich shook his head. "We're cousins, you know."

"Yes, I know. But I'm not a king."

"I know. My father is. And I'll be king after him."

"As it should be." Jareth said.

"But who'll be king after me? You?"

"Your son."

"But what if I don't have a son?"

"Your daughter, then."

"Girls can't be king." Khormich tisked.

"She'll be queen."

"But say I don't have any children at all. Who'll be king, then?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you care?"

"It will be a very long time before anyone will ever have to think about it. Why should I waste time caring now?"

"Because what if it's you?"

"If I wanted to be king, I would have stayed king."

"Everyone wants to be king."

"Not me. Not now."

"One day, you'll wake up and realize that you want it more than anything."

"It won't matter then. I've already given it up." Jareth pointed out.

"But you're still the strongest."

"Your father is the strongest." he corrected.

"Now. But when you grow up, you'll be strongest. It's always that way. The king is always strongest so no one can steal the throne." Khormich explained. "Plus, you'll support the most."

"Support?"

"Every Fae in the High Court holds something up. Everybody has so much magic that it kind of overflows, and all that magic holds the walls together and keep trees from falling over and such. You don't even feel it. It just kind of happens." Khormich shrugged. "And the stronger you are, the more you support 'cause your magic overflows so much. And the king's always the strongest, so you'll support the most."

"But your father is the king." Jareth countered.

"To us, maybe. But as long as you're alive the magic will always see you as king. So you'll always be the strongest."

"So what?"

"So if you decide you want to be king more than anything in the world, then nothing could stop you."

"I'll never want it."

"That's what you think."

----------

It was late when the goblins woke Jareth. Four or five of the small, leathery creatures had gathered around his bed and were chattering noisily.

"So is true? Boy kingy?" asked one.

"Crunch in kitchens say boy kingy." another answered.

"Crunch don't know kingy from bread. Don't gots brains in 'is head." yet another said.

"Grunt say he walk pass doors an' hears Wise Lady say that boy kingy."

"If Wise Lady say it, then its must be true!"

"Itchy say boy don't want to be kingy. Say that 'e tell old kingy that he can be kingy still."

"Tweak tell me the same thing."

The goblins stared at Jareth, who had moved into a sitting position, hair tousled, eyes red from sleep.

"Boy, you kingy?" asked one.

"No." Jareth answered sleepily. "I didn't want to be."

"So you no kingy for officially?" asked another.

"No." Jareth said again. "Weren't you at the banquet?"

"We no allowed to go feasty-feasts. Eats too messy, say Faes, so wes eaty feasty-feasts in the dungeon."

"Oh."

"You still kingy." affirmed one. "Just a'cause you no kingy for officially don't mean you not rightfully kingy."

The rest of the goblins nodded in agreement.

"Wes at you's becks and calls. Whatever yous wants, yous can gets from us."

"You kingy, and wes your loyal subjects."

"You has the magics. You has the powers."

"Boy with the power!" cried one of the goblins.

"No, listen. My uncle is the king."

"For officially." sniffed the smallest goblin. "Yous kingy for real."

"And wes your loyal subjects." reiterated another.

**~-~-~-END OF PART 1-~-~-~**

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_Author's Note: Please note that 'end of part one' does not mean end of the story. This is just the end of the first part. Hence the 'end' and 'of part 1' thing. ^.^ _


	7. Chapter 0 The Beginning in the Middle

_Author's Note: This is the last pre-written chapter I have, so updates won't be as close together as they were before. I'm going to make a promise to update at least once a week. And if I don't, feel free to harass me. A little bit of harassment never hurt anyone. 'Specially not me. In fact, I encourage it. Please. Harass me. _

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Do be careful." Aleron said worriedly, tucking a stray lock of golden hair behind Eithne's ear. The babe she held shifted slightly in her arms. "Just because this mortal is in love with my sister does not mean he is harmless. Mortals rarely are, you know."

"It will only be a short visit. Besides, I think both Neassa and myself are capable of holding off one mortal man should be become hostile."

"Be careful." he said again, resting his hand on the baby's small head momentarily.

Eithne smiled radiantly as her form began to fade out, moving to the place in-between worlds and the finally into another. She surveyed the familiar clearing and, after re-adjusting the blanket around the tiny Fae child, began down the equally familiar path that lead to the home of Neassa and her mortal lover. She didn't see, however, the pair of treacherous eyes that watched her as she moved.

Eithne didn't knock. She didn't have to. Neassa knew she was there just by the magic that suddenly crackled through the air.

"So this is my little nephew!" she cried as soon as the door opened. She hurried the pair inside and all but grabbed the child out of Eithne's arms. "Little Eahanan." she cooed. Eahanan blinked up at her with mismatched eyes and gurgled. "Leonell! They've arrived!" Neassa called over her shoulder.

"You know, the woman down the way has a babe about his age. I visit her now and then. Her husband goes off frequently and leaves her alone. She gets horribly lonely, though she'd never admit it."

Eahanan curled a tiny fist in Neassa's hair and closed his eyes.

"He's precious." she murmured.

"He's a monster."

"Just like his father." Neassa said fondly.

"So this is the little prince, is it?" Leonell boomed, smiling as he turned the corner. His dark hair and broad features contrasted sharply with the light, bird-like Fae women. "And the queen once again graces my house with her presence. I'm honored." he bowed slightly and Eithne laughed. "Well, let's see him, then."

Neassa turned herself so that Leonell could see the now-sleeping Eahanan. "Try not to wake him." she advised. "He may curse our livestock."

Leonell narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "I cannot tell whether or not you jest."

"Not at all, love."

Leonell looked concerned.

"Now, now, don't you worry." Eithne consoled. "Neassa and I can handle anything he inadvertently throws at us."

"Let's hope." Leonel murmured. "Well, why do we not move this little reunion into a more accommodating room? I am nothing if not a gracious hos---"

Abruptly the door crashed open.

"Leonell, son of Arbur. You are hereby charged by the king's authority with heresy on behalf of your witnessed consorting with demons." the intruder's voice darkened at the last word. "And therefore sentenced to death." he held a signed piece of parchment out.

Leonell blinked in shock. There had been no sign of this. Nothing. He had never seen this man before in his life. "Witnessed by whom?" he demanded furiously.

"Gavin the Good." answered the man. "Your former serving-boy."

"Treacherous little bastard of a boy! We took him in! Treated him as our own! How dare he spit such lies---"

The man, Aethelford, primly crossed the threshold of the door, waving a signed piece of parchment in front of him as he did so. A group of four armed men followed him. The moderately sized enterance hall seemed suddenly small. "Apprehend the heretic." his eyes narrowed. "And kill the abominations."

The resulting blast of magic from the two Fae women did nothing to halt the progression of two suddenly murderous footmen. The iron swords they weilded sliced through the inpalpable sheild as if nothing had ever been there. One of the men took a handful of something out of his pocket and scattered it around the women. Iron shavings.

"The priest in me village says that demons can't stand the touch of iron. 's too pure." the footman said wisely to his fellow. "Can't work they's Devil's magic, they can't."

The women were powerless. Iron choked the air too thickly, blocking magic and any means they had of escape.

"This un's got a babe." one of the footmen observed.

"Demon child." hissed another.

"Give me the child." demanded Aethelford.

"You mean, you want me to touch it?" asked one of the footmen dubiously. "'as evil all over 'em, e' does."

"Give me the child." he repeated. "The visiting bishop will cleanse you upon our return to court."

The man hurriedly grabbed the sleeping child out of Eithne's arms and handed it off to Aethelford.

"Eahanan!" she cried miserably.

"What is this? Foul language of Hell!" he accused.

"No! His name. Eahanan. Eahanan." Eithne was openly weeping.

"Kill her." the man demanded. "Kill them both."

The footmen swung their swords, slashing through the unprotected bodies of the Fae women easily. Blood spattered over the scattered iron pieces, burning away as soon as it touched them. Eithne collapsed immediately, groaning once before falling silent. Neassa, however, swayed on her feet.

"Eahanan… protect… him…" she gasped before she, too, hit the floor.

"Neassa!" Leonell roared, thrashing against the hold of the two other footmen who watched the unfolding scene with a cold indifference.

"Never fear, you will soon join your lover in hell." Aethelford said cruelly. "I would order you killed here and now, but the king insists upon seeing you the court prior to ending your pathetic life." he turned his attention back to the child he held in his arms. Eahanan stirred and grumbled before blinking awake, staring up at Aethelford with distrust. He began to cry furiously. "Demon child." he whispred. "He must be destroyed."

"Won't kill no babe, I won't." one footman spoke up suddenly. "Don't care if 'e _is_ the spawn of hell and monsters."

Aethelford glared. "It isn't your place to have an opinion in the matter. This just another of Satan's guises. Innocent child. Do not be fooled."

"Why don't you kill him?" another suggested. "We won't kill no babes."

"Fools." Aethelford growled, fumbling for the iron dagger in his belt. Eahanan continued to wail furiously for a moment before suddenly stopping. He looked Aethelford in the face again, wide-eyed and silent. Aethelford's hand fell to his side.

"Throw him in the forest. Let God's pure creatures destroy him." he said finally. "You. Take him." he demanded of the nearest footman, roughly shoving Eahanan into his arms and pushing him through the door. The footman took off quickly into the thick brush just as Eahanan began to wail again.

"Now, as for you." Aethelford turned his attention back to Leonell. "Bind him and take him to the horses."

----------

Aleron had felt the burst of magic from the Above. It shook the foundations of his person, so strong it had been. What was it for? He froze. Protection. But it had failed. The magic slipped away slowly, leaving a gap in the air around him. Small bits of magic disappeared out of his kingdom. Ivy pushed through the stone floor, trees fell in the gardens, arches tilted, statues cracked. Two supporters had died. He flew into action, pulling magic from the air around him and wrapping it around himself like a cloak before snapping out of the Underground.

----------

Leonell was acting out of pure adrenaline, his grief fueling every move he made. His fist crashed into the footman's face the second he let go to tie the rope. The man stumbled back, clutching his nose and howling in pain. He grabbed the sword from the man's belt and stabbed it through the base of his neck before turning to slam the man to his left in the head. He spun furiously to face Aethelford and the remaining footman, who had both drawn their weapons. He ducked low and took out the remaining footman's knee, sending him toppling to the ground. Panting, he raised his head to face Aethelford, who was struggling to support the foreign weight of his sword.

"Your arm shakes. You are no swordsman." Leonell declared.

"I am a soldier of God."

"Are you ready to meet Him?" Leonell demanded, throwing all of his weight behind the sword he carried as he blasted towards Aethelford who was caught completely off guard. He caught the unarmored man in the chest, driving the tip of the sword downward and then upwards again before withdrawing the blade.

Aethelford gasped and fell to the floor, clutching at his chest with what little strength he had left, panting a last, miserable breath.

"Eahanan. I must find Eahanan." Leonell cried, rushing from the house, blood-stained sword clutched tightly in his hand. He halted abruptly, surveying the surrounding foliage and path with desperation. Which way had they gone?

He startled abruptly when Aleron burst onto the scene several feet away from him. Aleron paused a moment, eyes tracing from the crazed look in Leonell's eye to the blood-spattered sword in his hand.

"You! What have you done?" his voice was low, full of threatening menace. "What has happened here?"

"Dead. They're dead." Leonell proclaimed, madness creeping into his voice. He threw the sword to the ground. "The child is---"

"My son. Dead." Aleron's eyes went cold. "Mortal fool. Baseborn animal." he hissed, stalking closer as Leonell backed up. "I knew your kind could not be trusted." Anger and magic swirled in thick strings around Aleron's body.

"No! I---"

The magic burst forth, slicing through Leonell violently. Bones snapped sharply through flesh as his body twisted in on it's self.

The man collapsed, still and silent.

Aleron let the unleashed chain of magic tear through the house, completely obliterating it. The only thing that remained was dust.

"Nowhere near them." he growled at Leonell's corpse. "I will send you away to rot alone." With a thought, the body was gone. "To the ends of the earth you go."

Aleron struggled to hold onto his sanity.

"I have lost everything."

----------

Not good. Very bad. Terrible luck. The woman held the dead child in her arms, cradling it's limp head in one hand.

Her husband would kill her.

"No more dead children." he had growled, leering at the baby before he departed. "This one will live."

Five children, and not one had lived past a week. She had wept, at first, until eventually her heart had hardened against it. It wasn't anyone's fault, after all. The gods, she decided, were unwilling to gift her with children to soothe the sting of a miserable marriage. Gradually, the want of children died away and left nothing. She decided, after awhile, that she wasn't even all that fond of children, anyway.

This one had been different, though. Three months, he had made it! A good natured child, too, smiling and gurgling frequently at her as she bustled around the small house. She began to think that maybe children weren't so terribly bad after all. That maybe the gods weren't so cruel. Until she had found him dead in the cradle.

What awful luck!

She had been shocked, at first, and perhaps just a little upset that her longest-lived child had turned up suddenly deceased.

"Poor little dear!" she had said, touching his cool forehead in a rare, sentimental gesture. But she had gotten over that quickly enough. After all, how many children before him had she buried? Too many to waste time being upset. Too many to waste tears.

But her husband would kill her! Strangle her with his bare hands, cleave her in two with his blunt, rusting axe, drown her in the river, poison her with hemlock…

She didn't know what to do.

Thoughts raced frantically through her head as she made her way through the forest, spade in one hand, her dead babe grasped in the other, paying no heed to the brambles that tore at her clothes and hair. She could tell him the king had taken the child to train him with other children to become a fierce soldier, like the Spartans of old had done. Tell him that an angel had appeared and spiraled the boy off to heaven under God's direct orders. Tell him that… oh, what was the use? He would never believe anything.

She continued on her way, scrambling over branches through impossibly tall bushes until at last she found the place deep in the woods where she had buried the others. She laid the child on the ground and struck the hard ground with the spade. The first scoop of dirt came easily loose and she tossed it aside, concentrating on her work.

Her mind worked furiously, trying to think of a way out of this mess. There had to be something she could do. Something… if only that infernal babe would stop it's crying!

The spade clattered to the ground.

A babe! Crying! Oh, blessed salvation!

She took off as quickly as she could towards the sound of the noise, praying to every god she knew that it would be alone and… if it wasn't too terribly much to ask of the forest gods… male.

She hit upon the babe almost immediately. Wrapped in a deep blue blanket of fine materal, it squirmed and thrashed, throwing it's tiny fists in the air and wailing. Branches began to crack on the trees that surrounded them as the desperation of it's distinctly male cries increased. Wind swirled through the area, whipping her hair lose from it's tight coil and pushing it across her face.

"Faerie child!" she cried happily, bending to scoop the child up in her arms. "Ickle weeping Faerie boy, sent to save my wretched soul!" she cried in a sing-song voice, dancing around the clearing as she gently rocked him in her arms. He blinked up at her with slight distrust in his mismatched eyes, until the gentle rocking movements of her arms calmed him into silence. The wind died down abruptly. "I know not where you came from, precious little thing, but this was a stroke of luck for both of us, wasn't it my little Jareth?" she asked, tucking the blanket tighter under his chin. "Jareth, Jareth, Jareth." she sang. "Whoever you were before, you're Jareth now!"


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Now that I've successfully watched every available episode of True Blood, I have substantially more time to write. So expect the next chapter sometime soon! Well, by the weekend, at least. _

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"He's tryna attack kingy!" shouted the small, leathery goblin. "GET HIMS!"

The following onslaught, though rather small and laughable in nature, was fierce and throughly unorganized, as was the way with goblin armies.

"Jareth! JARETH! GET YOUR BLOODY GOBLINS OFF OF ME!" Khormich roared, losing his grip on his sword and stumbling backwards as a hoard of small goblins attacked, tearing at his clothes and trying to wrestle him to the ground, screaming almost intelligable profanities all the while.

The goblins would heed no one else's word. In the thirteen years since the Wise Woman's revelation, the goblins would listen to Jareth, and only Jareth. Denizens of the High Court had taken to calling them 'Jareth's goblins,' or, more often, 'Jareth's bloody cretins' whenever they came up in regular conversation.

Jareth, however, couldn't stop laughing long enough to call them off. The sight of his prim and proper cousin being torn at by small, dirty goblins was too much.

"GET OFF OF ME!"

"You tryna kill kingy! Yous gotta swordy and yous gonna try to run hims through!" a goblin screamed.

"We saw you swingin' at hims!"

"You a cold blooded murderer!"

"Gots to be made stopped!"

Jareth tried very hard to pull himself together. "Fellows, please..." he gasped in between fits of baritone laughter. "What have we talked about?"

The goblins all pasued.

"Learnin' da alphabet?"

"Da diff'rence a-tween furnitures and foods?"

"Why's no good to run nakey through hallways?"

"Pullin' on kingy hair just acause's pretty and puffy and looky like a big soft buncha feathers 'snot accetable behaviors?"

"Stealin underdressins and hangin' dems outta da window not---"

"No, no," Jareth was breathing more evenly, now, and stood regally, swored clasped in a fist he balanced on his hip. "Pertaining to swordplay."

"Dont's play wiff swords. They's sharp and can hurts peoples."

"Poor Mash..." a smaller goblin muttered mournfully.

"The other thing." Jareth prompted.

"Kingy an' Khormich practice swordy-fighs in da yard. Khormich not tryna hurt kingy an'... oh."

"Run along, now." Jareth said.

"Sorry..." one of the goblins muttered to Khormic as the hoard took off.

Khormich glared at Jareth, who, upon getting a good look at him, burst into another fit of laughter.

"What?" Khormich demanded.

"You... you're... you look horrid."

"Thank you, I'm well aware of that." Khormich contined to glare as he attempted to brush the dirt off of his sleeve. "Oh, do shut up."

"Don't act as if this hasn't happened before." Jareth scoffed, serious again. "They attack you quite frequently."

"And yet you laugh every time."

"It continues to amuse me."

"Indeed."

"Well, shall we continue where we left off?" Jareth asked, lightly tossing his sword back and forth, hand to hand.

"I find I've lost the taste for it."

"Pity." Jareth said simply. "A forefit."

"I am _not_ forefitting. I'm declining your invitation to further combat."

"Whatever you say, Cousin." he shrugged elegantly.

"If you're trying to infuriate me enough to prompt another fight, it's not going to work."

"Now, whatever gave you that idea?"

"I know you, Jareth."

"Yes, well. More so the pity, then, isn't it?"

----------

"Jareth!" Valdrom called quickly, catching Jareth mid-step as he cantered down the hall. "I've been looking for you all morning."

"My apologies, Uncle." Jareth inclined his head, sending a wave of golden strands over his shoulder "Khormic and I were practing at swordplay in the courtyard."

"Ah. And how did that go?" the few, miniscule lines in the king's face disappeared as his features lit up.

"Very well indeed... to begin with..." Jareth trailed off. "The goblins attacked him."

"Again?"

Jareth nodded, a smile creeping over his lips.

"Rather excitable bunch, aren't they?" Valdrom asked metaphorically, as he knew well indeed that goblins were, in fact, substantially more than just _rather _excitable. "I'd been meaning to talk to you about them, now that we're on the subject."

"I'm on my way to repair the statues now."

Valdrom cocked an eyebrow. "What's this about statues?"

"Ah. Nothing. Nothing at all. What did you wish to speak with me about, Uncle?"

He shot Jareth a suspicious look before continuing. "Could you please ask your goblins to prepare several rooms in the west wing? I'm afraid everyone else on the regular castle staff is busy elsewhere making preparations."

"Expecting company?" Jareth asked.

"Some lesser noble and his family." Valdrom shrugged elegantly. "The most arragant fool I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"How many rooms do they require?"

"Three should be plently. And if it isn't, than I shall make certain all complaints are reported promptly to your goblins, who, I am sure, will either ignore them or fail furiously in the attempt to correct them." Valdrom paused. "Now about those statues..."

----------

Jareth paced back and forth before the four assembled goblins, who were, as far as goblins were concerned, behaving rather nicely, having only broken one chair since they'd been sitting.

"Now, my fine fellows," Jareth began, pausing in his pace to turn and address the goblins. "Why you decided to sneak into the king's private gallery is beyond me, and, quite frankly, unimportant. What I would really like to know, however, is how you managed to completely obliterate fourteen granite statues in the course of fifteen short minutes."

There was a heavy silence.

"Well?" Jareth prompted.

"The firs one was a accident..." ventured one of the goblins. "We was playin' da Kingy game when Tickle---"

"The Kingy game." Jareth repeated dubiously.

"Oh, yeah! Is real fun. Itchy in da laundry made it up. Firs you take a mop an you rip off da fuzzy part, den da tallest puts it on 'is head and den runs around wif a bucket fulla round stuffs and frows it at da other players." one explained.

"An' den when yous outta round stuffs, yous put your hands on your hippys and walks like dis." Another goblin sprang up and began strutting back and forth.

"An' after that someone gets a chicken an---"

"That's quite enough." Jareth interrupted, making a mental note to have a nice talk with Itchy in the laundry. "Back to the subject at hand."

The goblins all looked at his hands expectantly.

"The statues." Jareth clarified.

"Well... wes had all afore playin' runned round da castle lookin' for round stuffs."

"Bash finded dis real shiny roundy-round in Kingy's room." another added.

"An den when we was playin, Tickle frew it and it kinda 'sploded."

"You went into my chambers?" Jareth demanded.

"Well, at firs we was cleanin' and den we saw the roundy-round and thought it'd be perfect for da Kingy game."

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you any idea how long it took me to put those statues back together again?"

"No idea at all, Kingy." one responded proudly, sitting up fractionally straighter.

He sighed, exasperated, before narrowing his eyes and lowering his tone. "I trust that in the future, my belongings will be left alone and in their rightful place. I will bypass your punishments this time, though in the future I may not be so generous. Am I understood?"

The goblins all bowed their grubby heads.

"Excellent. Away with you, then." he said. "And please, try, for ten seconds, to stay out of trouble."

Suddenly a crash and a yell echoed from a room further down the hall.

"This is going to be a very long day." Jareth muttered.

----------

"No one told me he had a daughter." Khormich whispered across the table as Jareth pushed a stray bit of veal across his plate disinterestedly.

"Who?" he asked without looking up.

"The lord from the Farlands." Khormich said. "No one told me he had a daughter."

"Maybe no one thought that you'd be obligated to know." Jareth suggested. "Which is a rather stupid assumption, considering you feel obligated to know _everything_, whether it's any of your business or not."

Khormich scoffed, but didn't retort.

"She's looking your way." Jareth advised.

Khormich sat up straighter and plastered a regal look on his face. Moments later, he slouched again and rolled his eyes. "And now she's looking at you."

"And so?"

"She's pretty, eh?"

"Pretty. Yes." Jareth allowed, goring the sliver of veal on the end of his knife, just as a light tug on the end of his cape caught his attention. "Yes, what is it, Twip?" he asked, craning his head to look at the particularly tiny goblin.

"Uh... sorry a innerupt your feasty-feasts, Kingy but...well... uh... da resta da goblins kinda 'acided dat if Faes havin' a feasty-feast, den da goblins should has a feasty-feast too an so while dey was runnin round in da kitchens lookin' for breads and meats and more yummy stuffs---"

"What happened now, Twip?" Jareth asked tiredly, interrupting what he was sure was going to be a long and unimportant tirade.

"Um... you know all dose many big barrels a ale dats keeped in da kitchens for special 'casions? Well, dey 'acided dat a goblin feasty-feast was a special 'casion and now---"

Jareth's eyes widened as his knife clattered to his plate. "They didn't."

"Dey did."

"Where are they?" Jareth demanded, feeling a headache forming already at the thought of the havoc upwards of two hundred violently drunk goblins could wreak.

"Uh.... everywheres."

Jareth pushed back from the table abruptly and leapt up, taking long, furious strides towards the large doors.

"How rude, storming out in the middle of a feast like that. Honestly, you'd think he hasn't any manners at all." one of the Fae farther down the table sniffed as she watched Jareth storm out of the great hall.

"He has to go and wrangle his cretins. Shame, really. They're quite the impossible handful." someone responded.

"I'll bet the king is thankful that he is no longer accountable for their actions."

"Anyone would be thankful for that."

"Unfortunate for Jareth, though."

"Very."

----------

Five hours later, Jareth had finally managed to subdue the rampaging goblins and repair all damage to the castle. He was exhausted. The world swam around him as he continued down the hallway, thinking only of rest.

"Excuse me," a woman said in a small voice from behind him. "I hate to trouble you... you're obviously very tired... It's just that I seem to have lost my way and..." she trailed off.

Jareth turned and blinked, clearing the webs from his vision. "No trouble at all. You're from the Farlands, aren't you?"

The woman nodded.

"Well now, no need to be so quiet."

"My apologies. It's not every day that one encounters royalty... a prince, no less."

"Oh yes." Jareth scoffed. "Prince of the Goblins, at your service." he bowed mockingly.

"And heir to the throne of the whole Underground."

"Khormich goes first. Like he should."

"It was very selfless of you to have given up the throne." The woman said quietly, toying with a stray lock of amber hair.

Jareth shrugged. "It was the right thing. For everyone."

"You were so young to have made that decision."

"I believe you were looking for your chambers?" Jareth redirected tiredly.

"Yes. My apologies." she inclined her head.

"I believe you're staying in the west wing, if memory serves?"

The woman nodded.

"Well now, let me think. Where are we right now? The east wing? Yes, I believe so." he was so incredibly tired that he had no idea where he was, only that he was very near to his own chambers. "If you take that corridor to the staircase... no. Perhaps not. If you backtrack until you reach the... No again. That would take you back to the great hall." Jareth sighed. "I am so terribly sorry. I am being _terribly_ unhelpful. Here," he pulled together the remnants of his strength and conjured a crystal, which he handed off to the woman. The incredibly simple bit of magic had drained him more than he'd ever thought possible. "This will guide you to anywhere in the castle you wish to go."

"You are very generous. Thank you, Your Highness."

Jareth winced. "Jareth, please."

"Jareth." the woman repeated. "I'm Morihana."


	9. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: I am so so so so soooo sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I am a terrible person who deserves your scorn. Especially since nothing particularly noteworthy happens in this chapter. _

_And just in case anyone's forgotten, I don't own Jareth. _

_---------------------------------------------------------------------_

"KINGY! I BRUNG YOUS BREFASTS!"

Jareth moaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow, hoping that the goblin would go away.

"Kingy! Wakey wakey, I gots bakey!" a pause. "Unless you doesn't want it, then... can I haves it?"

Jareth rolled onto his back. "Leave it on the dresser." he muttered.

"Sure do loves bakey..." the goblin mumbled.

"Take it." Jareth grumbled, really not wanting to be bothered.

"Thanks, Kingy!"

Sadly, the goblin did not have the presence of mind to set the tray down before making a grab for the bacon, causing the tray to clatter to the floor, sending a smattering of breakfast items onto the carpet.

"Oh no!" the tray-carrier exclaimed. "No worries, Kingy! I's clean it up!"

"Just leave it!" Jareth snapped, sitting up. "I will take care of it. Go and find something productive and, if at all possible, only mildly destructive with which to occupy your time."

"Right away, Kingy!" the goblin squeaked. "Mildly destructive! Direct orders from Kingy! Tell everyones!" she cried on her way out.

Jareth buried his face in his hands and groaned. Not another one of those days. He could hardly call himself recovered from the previous one. He sunk back into the mattress, pulling the heavy comforter high up over his mussed hair and willing himself back to sleep.

"Jareth! Guess what I realized yesterday?" Khormich boomed, strolling in unannounced, as always. He paused when he saw the Jareth-shaped lump under the covers. "Still abed at this hour, Cousin? Come, you must rise!"

"What do you want?" Jareth demanded, throwing the coverlet back and sitting, angry at the interruption. "And this had better be important, or I'll curse you so far into next week you'll be stuck there for a month."

"Did you realize that the Midsummer celebration is a mere month away?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I had assumed you were capable of keeping track of time." Jareth said flatly. "Apparently I was mistaken. Now if you don't mind, I am going back to bed."

"What about---"

Jareth sighed impatiently. "What about _what, _Khormich? Your _father _plans the whole cursed thing every year. _He _magicks up the decorations, _he _invites the guests, _he _plans the menu... You'd think you would have picked up on this by now. What in the world could you possibly have thought up that would require you to burst in here unannounced and disturb me?"

"If you would calm _down _for ten seconds and let me _speak, _I would tell you, you irritable pillock."

Jareth scowled.

"We are in charge of planning the Games this year."

The scowl melted away slowly, only to be replaced by a characteristically mischevious glint.

"How could I have forgotten?"

----------

..._Luckily, the Games have only turned deadly on three (recorded) occasions. The first, and probably the most prominent, occured (according to the mortal calendar) 9264 B.C. when Omnipherous the Most Destructive and Vindictive yet still Fair and Most Winsome attempted to strangle his brother, the High King Annistartus the Most Bewildered, with his own son, Prince Salvartan the Slithery, the only Fae in recorded history to turn into a serpent rather than a bird upon coming of age..._

Jareth scoffed and slammed the heavy, leather bound volume. He'd wanted _examples _of past Games. Descriptions. Something he could use as a springboard for his own ideas. He'd seen the games before, and wanted this year to be better than anything. The best that anyone had ever seen.

He dropped the book on top of the stack he'd already sifted through. He'd found nothing.

A noise off to his left caught his attention.

"I think you're following me." Jareth accused upon finding Morihana scanning the shelves nearest to him.

"Forgive me," she began, startled, "I'm just---"

"Not lost, I hope. I'd hate to think you neglected to use my gift."

"I had intended to find my way in here, actually... I've never seen so many books in my entire life." she marveled.

"Do you enjoy reading?" Jarethy asked, suddenly interested.

"Very much so, sir, when I find the time."

"Sir?" Jareth scoffed. "I thought we'd been over this. Call me Jareth."

"I'm sorry. I am not accustomed to---"

"None of that, now, none of that." Jareth dismissed. "What sort of books do you enjoy? Perhaps I could help you find something."

"I know it's foolish, but I'm rather fond of mortal mythology." she confessed.

Jareth's eyes gleamed. He had a strange fascination with mortal mythology. "Do you have a favorite?"

"I don't really pick favorites... I'm fond of Orpheus and Eurydice, though, and the Egyptian creation myths. And I especially like the story of Theseus and the labyrinth. I find his bravery in slaying the Minotaur quite... refreshing. I could never be that brave."

"A labyrinth." Jareth repeated, suddenly struck with an idea. "A labyrinth. In the gardens. Not very large but filled with obstacles and tricks... Excuse me, I must find my cousin." he said, standing abruptly and rushing from the room, leaving Morihana slightly bewildered.

A tall, dark-haired man strode in mere seconds after Jareth had left.

"Sister," he inclined his head. Morihana said nothing. "Making new friends?"

Morihana remained silent.

"Be sure you do not forget our plans." he said.

----------

"A labyrinth? Are you insane? The sheer amount of concentration it would take to simply raise the walls is beyond comprehension." Khormich said, shaking his head. "Imagine the energy we would need! It would _kill _us."

"They'd only have to be as tall as the tallest runner." Jareth countered. "Don't be so dramatic. Besides, if we use the hedges in the garden, then that's already half the work. We'd only have to shape them. The thing as a whole would not need to be very large."

"Then it's not very challenging, is it?"

"It's not the actual labyrinth that's difficult. It's the tricks and traps that would make it nearly impossible to solve."

Khormich sighed. "That sounds horribly complicated."

"I don't see you waxing inspirational." Jareth pointed out. "So unless you have a better idea..." he trailed off.

Khormich glared.

"Though, if you don't think you're up for it," Jareth added innocently. "Then I suppose we could just do something less complex. "

"I hate it, so dearly _hate _it when you do that."

"Do what?" Jareth asked, wide-eyed.

"You know very well what."

Jareth feigned confusion. Khormich rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'm in."

"Excellent!" Jareth cried, clapping his hands together with almost child-like glee. "We should start immediately. Now. Right this second. Come on!" he exclaimed.

"Now wait a second. Do you not think it would be prudent to come up with some sort of plan, so that we're not running about all..." he waved his hands in a vauge gesture of confusion.

"A plan. Right." Jareth agreed, sobering immediately. "A solid plan, so that everything goes smoothly. Though it would be infinitessamelly more interesting if we were to continue on without one."

"Think of everything that would go wrong."

"Think of everything that wouldn't."

Khormich rolled his eyes again, a habit he found himself making frequent use of whenever he was in the company of his cousin. "You never think anything you attempt can go badly for you, do you?"

"Past endeavors have indicated that this is not a particularly ludicrous assumption." Jareth pointed out cockily.

"One day... Perhaps not one day soon, but one day, something will go poorly for you and your entire outlook on life will be crushed."

Jareth shrugged. "Then I will cross that bridge when I come to it, and not a moment before."

Khormich just shook his head.

"We can start tomorrow, then, I suppose." he said finally.

----------

Jareth's eyes focused heavily on the decorative shrubs lined up neatly before him as he raised his right hand, turned sideways, parallel to his right eye and abruptly twisted his wrist. The plants melded together and flattened, forming a towering wall that stretched halfway through the gardens. Khormich was busy doing the same in another section. This went on for some time, hours, a choreographed dance of gesture and movement, until the garden was no longer recognizable. Green walls encased the whole of the gardens, leaving only a small amount of space at the entrance and the exit, and room enough on the sides so that stone platforms could be raised beyond the walls for spectators who had no desire to take part in the games.

Khormich breathed a heavy sigh of relief, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from his brow.

"That's enough for today, I think. I'm so exhausted I can barely stand." he said.

Jareth looked slightly shocked. He didn't feel tired at all.

"Cousin, are you alright?" he asked.

"Just a bit worn out, aren't you?"

Jareth didn't say anything.

"No, of course you aren't." Khormich snapped. "It's your _birthright." _he spat the word.

Jareth glared daggers of hurt at Khormich.

"I apologize. That wasn't fair of me."

"No, it wasn't."

Khormich could find no adequate response to this, so opted instead for a change of subject.

"Your goblins have been quiet today."

"The goblins are _never _quiet. They just haven't found me yet."

"I wonder what they did today."

"I don't." Jareth said dubiously. "I've cleaned up enough messes this week."

"I remember when Father used to have to do it. Drove him up the wall."

"Oh really? Can't imagine why." Jareth shot sarcastically. "They're so calm and obedient, I can't imagine how they could drive _anyone _mad."

"Now, there's no need for that. I was simply making conversation."

"Oh, yes. Decidedly _simple._" the inflection was hard to miss. "That's _your_ birthright."

Khormich stared. "Alright, I deserved that."

"Yes, you did."

"Are we even, then?"

"KINGY!" a goblin squealed, running up behind Jareth and tapping the back of his boot in an attempt to get his attention. "Button say dat you tells her wes apposta find somefin mildly destructive ta do today. We's followed yours order to da letter! Come an' see!"

Khormich stiffled a snort.

"I'm not Kingy." Jareth said, suddenly struck with inspiration.

"You's not?" the goblin asked, clearly confused. "Den... where Kingy?"

"Right there." Jareth pointed to Khormich.

"Das not Kingy. Das... Das Kingy cousin."

"We decided to switch bodies today."

The goblin blinked, trying to process this. "So... yous Kingy cousin and... das Kingy?"

Jareth nodded solemnly.

The goblin immediatelly began harassing Khormich. "Come and see!" she cried. "Wes wanna make you proud!"

She grabbed ahold of the back of Khormich's shoes and started pulling. Khormich, exhausted, allowed himself to be directed away by the tiny creature, glaring daggers at Jareth as he went.

"Now we're even." Jareth called after him.

----------

"What in the world are you doing?" Valdrom asked upon discovering Jareth reclining against a tree in the courtyard, ankles crossed, toying with a crystal non-chalantly.

"Relaxing, for once."

"Does that explain why Khormich is in the antechamber attempting to un-stick your goblins from the ceiling while they cheer him on?"

Jareth shrugged. "Probably."


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Expect me to continue with once-every-two-weeks updates for a little while longer. Life is hectic. Very sorry. I also want to apologize for any misspellings (besides the intentional ones, of course) in this chapter. My spell-checker's not working right. Stupid Microsoft Word. I KEEL YOU. _

_I also want to thank everyone who's taken the time to review my story. Reviews mean a lot to me, guys, really they do. Thank you so much for all the kind words =D_

_And no. I still don't own Jareth. _

_--------------------------------------------------------------_

"I was thinking that if we enchant a passageway to cause whomever steps into it to believe that he or she has made it to the end of the labyrinth first and won the pick of the prizes then---" Jareth stopped abruptly upon catching Khormich's glare. "Not still upset, are you Cousin?"

"I hate you." he hissed.

"Hate is a strong word."

"And yet, not particularly strong enough, I think."

"Don't be so bloody _dramatic._" Jareth snapped. "Oh, woe is me. I had to wrangle the big, bad goblins for all of four hours! The pain! The torment! I'm lucky to be alive!" he clasped his hands to his heart.

"I was exhausted, Jareth! I had to pull magic out of the _ground _because I had nothing left. Nothing. I couldn't have pushed a feather across a table. You can't imagine what that's like, can you? You've never been without strength a day in your whole gifted life. It was unfair of you to have pushed that off on me."

"If you didn't take every available moment to remind me how _unfair _it is that you have to suffer the lowly indignity of not being higher up in the magical hierarchy than your back-country, human-reared cousin, then maybe I wouldn't have felt the need."

"It's... exasperating, to tire so quickly and turn to you and see that you haven't even broken a sweat."

"That is not my fault, cousin, and you know it."

"Or maybe it is. Maybe," Khormich growled. "If you had just taken your rightful place as High King then this conversation wouldn't be necessary."

Jareth's eyes blazed. "Where would you be if I had done that?" he spat. "Second in line to the throne. A nobody. No one would even throw you a passing glance. You would be where I am, only weaker. I, at least, have power. You wouldn't even have that. Take a moment to look around you, see everything you have that others don't. That _I _don't have. Think, then, on what it would be to have nothing. What it would mean to _be _nothing. Then talk to me about my decision."

He turned heel abruptly and exited the room, leaving Khormich flabbergasted and gaping at the empty doorway.

Jareth stormed through the empty hallways, struggling to get his temper back under control. He disregarded everyone he passed in the halls, who, upon feeling the angry snap of magic in the air and the murderous expression etched across his features, had been relieved.

"Something wrong, Jareth?"

Valdrom was the only soul brave enough to approach him.

Jareth wirled around violently to face him.

"Do you know how easily I could overthrow you?" he hissed. Valdrom was taken aback.

"Far more easily than I think you even realize."

"What prompted this?" Valdrom asked calmly.

Jareth shook his head. "I am so tired of being the antagonist."

"You always will be, I am afraid, so long as you are so powerful."

Jareth sighed. "I never asked for this."

"When you gave up your birthright---"

"Would you rather I hadn't?" he demanded. "Can you look me in the eyes and say it?"

Valdrom remained silent.

"That's what I thought."

"You agonize unnecessarily. What's done is done."

Jareth sighed again. "This was all my choice." he conceded. "I was no fit ruler... I still am not a fit ruler. I do not regret my decision. I never have. I don't think I ever shall." he shrugged. "I want only to be... left alone, I suppose."

"Well, you've done a pretty good job of running everyone off."

Jareth looked around the empty hallway. "I suppose I have."

"You're off to a good start, then."

----------

Jareth carefully lay the magic for the illusitory spell, triple-checking the vague lines in the air around him to be sure nothing was crossed or broken. Finally, when he was satisfied, he laid the sheet of magic over the small section of stone pathway that looked to be a shortcut through the small labyrinth. He found that, though the magic was complicated and grueling, and though he could think of a thousand ways to speed up the intricate process that was completing the labyrinth, that he was rather enjoying himself. The dead silence was strangely... relaxing.

He'd been weaving all day, layers upon layers of whispered words and heavy magic, varying so greatly that the flying ribbons of power in the air were almost visible.

And luckily for him, the goblins had been uncharacteristically quiet. If he hadn't known better, he would have said they weren't even there.

He balked as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Had he actually seen one today?

No. He hadn't.

"This cannot be a good thing." Jareth muttered, spinning abruptly on his heel and making off towards the door.

Strange that he found himself storming through the halls twice in one day. Usually he reserved that particular pastime for special occasions.

He checked the usual haunts. The kitchens, the dungeons, all rooms containing breakable objects. Not a goblin in sight.

He forced himself to take a calming breath. What was the worst they could do, after all? Knock down the palace? Clearly it was still standing. Jareth figured he could handle anything they threw at him. Whether or not he could handle that something in a tolerable amount of time, however... well, that didn't matter just then.

"As long as they appear before tomorrow." he added outloud.

He was too distracted, however, to even think of working on the labyrinth. The magic he needed to implement was entirely too complicated to risk letting his mind wander.

"Well, whatever shall I do now?" he asked the walls.

The walls, of course, had no answer.

He consitered harassing his cousin. That was always a diverting pastime. However, earlier events had indicated that harassing Khormich would not be a good idea. Jareth sighed. Perhaps Morihana would... What had made him think of Morihana? How suddenly her face appeared in his thoughts! Bizzare.

He shrugged and turned heel to find her.

----------

Morihana was surprised to find Jareth at her door.

"Good afternoon." he smiled brightly.

"Good afternoon." she responded, shock leaking into her voice.

"Strange, really, that at _just _the precice moment I walked past your door I noticed that I was without companionship." he smiled again. "Care to acompany me on a walk through the king's gardens?"

Morihana gasped. "I couldn't possibly walk through the king's private gardens."

"Of course you could. I do it all the time."

"But you are---"

"Someone who happens to know how to get through the enchanted gate."

"Oh." her eyes filled with excitement.

"Come," he held out a hand to her, which she took hesitantly.

"I don't often," _ever _she amended mentally. "Walk with men."

"This shall be a pleasant treat for the both of us, then, as I don't often walk with _anyone._"

"I should think that everyone would want to walk with you."

Jareth scoffed. "And why should anyone wish to walk with me?"

"Why shouldn't they?" Morihana countered. "You're intelligent, kind, handsome..."

"You think I'm handsome?" Jareth smiled devilishly.

"I..."

"Well, I think you're quite beautiful."

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"But I do mean it." he whirled around to face her, taking her face in his hands on an impulse. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Morihana stared, transfixed, into his mismatched eyes.

"_Jareth._"

The king's voice was sharp, and the spell of the moment was broken. Jareth spun abruptly as Morihana dropped into a hasty curtsy.

"Yes, Uncle?"

"Come with me." Valdrom ordered gravely as he turned and began off down the hallway. Jareth snaked a hand around Morihana's wrist before taking off after him.

"This cannot be good." he whispered in her ear. "I wonder what has happened."

"Jareth, you should let the girl go back to her chambers. This does not concern her."

"I would rather her stay, Uncle."

Valdrom didn't respond. Instead he pushed open a door on his left and waited for the two to catch up with him. They marched through silently.

A child, a babe, very small with powerdy whisps of brown hair, lay blanket-wrapped in the arms of Marrey, Jareth's old nursemaid.

Jareth's eyes widened as he took in the babe. "I don't know who told you what, but that child is not---."

"The child is human. At least, he was."

"What are you talking about?"

"Several of your goblins traveled to the Above last night."

Jareth balked. How was it possible he had not known? He had let his focus on the goblins slip, true, because Khormich had been taking care of them. Had he slipped that much? He shook his head. This was Khormich's fault, if it was anyone's. But Khormich had been tired, and Jareth had know it when he set the goblins loose on him. "The _Above_? Are you certain?"

"They returned with the child. They've been hiding with him all day."

"I will take him back."

"You cannot. He has been here too long."

"Uncle, what---"

"Fae magic is infectious, especially to a child. After thirteen hours, the effects are irreversable."

"Has this boy turned Fae?" Jareth demanded, horrified.

"No. But he is no longer quite human, either. He will become something else. The magic will change him, now."

"Into... what?" Jareth managed, overcome with a horrible feeling.

"I do not know. But see his hands, they have already begun."

The boys hands had indeed begun to darken, his fingers elongate, his nails grow brittle.

"I will change him back."

"Even you are not powerful enough to fight this."

Morihana put a comforting hand on Jareth's shoulder.

"Where are the goblins?" His face was set, his eyes hard.

"The five responsible are in the ajoining room."

Jareth turned to the door on the opposite wall. "Morihana, perhaps it would be better if we continued our walk some other time." he threw over his shoulder numbly before shutting himself in with his goblins.

"Kingy!" one squealed.

"You Kingy today, right?"

"Quiet." Jareth hissed. "I want you to explain to me as clearly as possible what happened."

"W-well, we was playin' in da Above like we do sometimes an... an..." the goblin trailed off, sensing the danger in Jareth's eyes.

"An we hears a babe cryin an a la'y screamin'"

"An da la'y say 'I wish someones would take yous away, yous mis'rable wretch!'"

"Da la'y screamin' loud." interrupted one. "Hurty earses." she rubbed her small, leathery hands over her large, pointed ears.

"So wes take da babe, and da babe stop cryin'."

"But da la'y scream louder."

"Even doe she say 'I wish.' Why she scream? Don' everyones want theys wish a come true?"

"'Ol Snorty say Kingy wish himself aways to here when Kingy jus' a lil slippy of a boysie."

"An' look how happy Kingy be now!"

"Babe can be happy, too."

Jareth sank down into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Kingy sad." whispered a goblin. "Why Kingy sad?"

"Kingy, what wrong?"

Jareth sighed heavily in response. "You must understand that what you did was wrong."

"Why's wrong to grant wishy-wishes and make babes happy?"

"Because sometimes, even well-meant actions are the wrong actions to take."

There was a general pause.

"Wat dat mean?"

"Mean dat just a'cause you fink something make someone happy, don't means dat it good for to make happy." explained another in a rare moment of insight.

"Oh."

The assembled goblins turned their attention back to their meloncholy king.

"Is we in trouble?" one asked quietly.

Jareth looked up. "No. No, you aren't. Just... remember what I told you. Think on it."

The goblins nodded solemnly.

"You are dismissed." he told them.

The goblins filed out of the room, leaving him sweetly alone.

----------

"A goblin." Valdrom said when Jareth had pulled himself together enough to re-enter the room. "He's changing into a goblin. He was with them longest."

"What should I do with him?" Jareth asked.

"That is for you to decide."

Jareth sighed heavily, staring down at the leather toes of his boots as he thought.

"If it is any consolation to you, the child does bear marks of... mistreatment."

"Then it is better that he is here. That he is... changing." Jareth told himself firmly. "It is better."

Valdrom bowed his head.

"I will put him in the care of Broom and Chewy." said Jareth after a pause. "They will care for him the way he needs to be cared for."

"Kitchen goblins, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are."

Valdrom clapped a hand on Jareth's shoulder.

"This was not your fault."

"If I hadn't been so spiteful yesterday... if I hadn't forced Khormich to take charge..."

"You could not have stopped them. Goblin magic is fairly straightforward, you know that."

"I do know it."

"Then why do you torment yourself?"

Jareth looked away. "A life. That decision ruined a life. Destroyed a life. And it falls on my shoulders."


	11. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: I'm back after a very long hiatus. Special thanks to Carrie (Sorry, don't know your username!) who harassed me via email to finish this story. I feel special and loved. And more special thanks to Beth, who just plain harasses me in general. I owe her more stories *shifty eyes* Must. Hide.  
_

_Disclaimer: *digs through purse* I own an iPod, a canister of lip balm, a pen with no cap, a receipt from Target, thirty-five cents, a band-aid, four paperclips, and a nail file. I do not own Jareth. Although, I'd happily trade all of the aforementioned items for him. Except maybe the iPod. I need that. _

_

* * *

_"You have done nothing, _nothing _to further our plans." the man hissed.

"I have made better plans." the girl countered.

"It is not your place to do so."

"Your plans were ill-laid and poorly thought out."

"How _dare_ you? It is your duty to do what you can to further the position of this family. What you are doing... it will get us nowhere. That mortal-reared fool is-"

"Infinintely more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"And so? What is power without authority?"

The girl laughed, high and melodic. "Power makes authority. The land recognizes him as king already. The people would easily follow suit given the opportunity."

"And how do you suggest we remove the king and his son from this equation?" the man asked snidely.

"The Midsummer celebration draws near."

"And so?"

"The Games can be dangerous."

* * *

Jareth had been buried in the labyrinth for hours.

_Or days. _he thought. Time had ceased to exist to him. He though, fleetingly, that he'd gone mad.

_But what is madness? I am simply keeping busy._

The labyrinth was coming along fabulously. The tall, leafy walls moved and shifted, so that the actual shape of the maze was impossible to determine. Jareth knew, of course. But then, he had made it.

The bright sun burned orange in the sky, signaling the approaching night. Jareth debated whether or not he should leave. True, it would be wise to rest. It was never a good idea to overuse one's magic. However, the tell-tale ache in the joints of his fingers was absent. He could go on for hours more, weaving countless threads of complex enchantments and lapping up the silence and calm.

"I will not." Jareth affirmed. "Khormich can have his turn."

He hadn't seen his cousin in days. Not since they'd argued. Not since...

Jareth refused to think about the child.

Abruptly he relocated himself to the entrance of the labyrinth, making a mental note to lay an enchantment later that prevented such a thing from happening during the actual contest.

He was surprised to see Morihana sitting on the low, gray-stone garden wall. He opted to remain silent, waiting for her to speak.

"I haven't seen you since... in days." she amended tactfully. "I had remembered that you still owed me a walk through the kings private gardens. But if you're too tired, don't strain yourself on my account."

Jareth smiled. "I find myself at the peak of energy, actually, find that I would quite enjoy a walk through the gardens with a beautiful young maiden."

Morihana looked away. "Shall I go find you one?"

Jareth tisked. "You'd be hard pressed to find anyone fairer than the beauty who sits before me." he offered her his hand and helped her to her feet.

"You are overly-kind."

"I don't understand you women, always thinking so poorly of yourselves."

* * *

"My mother died when I was very young... rather, she disappeared, as I have no recollection of ever having attended a funeral of any sort and my father has only ever referred to her as being dead. My father is... he is..." Morihana paused here, clearly combing through vocabulary in order to find an adequate word. "My father is one-minded. He is either ruthless, or he is my father. Usually, though, he is ruthless."

"What of your brother?"

"He is equally ruthless. More so than my father. It is as if someone took all the bad parts of my father and bound them together to make my brother." she laughed lightly. "But I cannot complain. He is my brother, and he is who he is."

"And you?"

"I am... weak. Quiet. A disappointment."

"That is perspective."

Jareth steered to a stop in front of a patch of pale, wilting roses.

"Take these, for example. They are overshadowed by the tall, imposing plants that surround them. They are ill-suited for this garden. They are too small. Too plain." He ran a finger over the thin, browning stems. "And yet they still have thorns."

"I'm... not sure I understsand what you mean." Morihana confessed.

Jareth smiled brightly. "You don't need to."

He plucked a rose off of the vine and trailed a finger across the petals. The rose burst back into opulence as he tucked it into her raven hair.

"A gift for my lady." he murmured, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her so near to him that their lips nearly met.

"Jareth..."

"Don't say a word."

"Uh... Kingy?" began a tentative voice.

Jareth swore.

"Yes?" he hissed, teeth clenched, as he turned, reluctantly, to face the leathery creature.

"Da babe... da madey babe in da kichens... hes not eatins. Hadn't eatins in days. We's been tryin to finds you but..."

Jareth's face was suddenly grave. "I will be there momentarily."

He turned his attention back to Morihana. "I _will _be back."

"Don't worry about me. You must attend the child."

"I am always being called away from you."

"Don't fret over me. You have-"

He smothered the rest of her words with an abrupt kiss.

"I will be back."

* * *

Khormich hadn't seen Jareth in days. He couldn't believe that he was still mad.

"Childish." Khormich muttered, "Childish and vain. That's my cousin. Never a single thought spared for anyone but himself." he grumbled as he continued down the hallway.

Jareth, meanwhile, was barreling down the same hallway in the opposite direction.

"I'll never understand how he-" Khormich continued, only to be cut off by the abrupt action of nearly barreling into the very person about whom he had been complaining.

"Jareth." he said scornfully.

"Not now, Khormich. I am needed."

"More goblins to wrangle?" he asked coolly.

"Something of the sort. But please, if you don't mind I really must be-"

"So eager to get away from me? Perhaps regretful at your choice of words during our last little... discussion?"

"I'm sorry that you think so highly of yourself that you believe I would feel something as profound as regret over something as trivial as a disagreement with you. However, my attention is needed elsewhere so we will have to continue _this _'little discussion' later."

"What could you possibly deem so important? I daresay it isn't anything of any importance at all, if I know you, and I wager, dear cousin, that I know you quite well."

"You haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, and you had better believe that if I had even the slightest inkling that you did, in fact, have the slightest idea, I would turn you inside out." he hissed. "In the most literal sense possible. Now I recommend that you step aside."

Jareth's tone struck Khormich's common sense, and he moved aside.

Jareth continued down the hallway, nearly running. Khormich watched him until he disappeared around the corner, leaving the princeling in a state of advanced confusion. As ill-tempered as his cousin could be, Khormich couldn't recall ever having seen him so inexplicably riled up. After mentally debating for only a moment, Khormich took off after him.

The kitchens were, as always, hot and over-crowded. The bustle of activity, however, was different than what Jareth was used to seeing. Goblins rushed back and forth carrying arm-fulls of food, muttering to themselves almost worriedly. The goblin in charge, Chewy, rushed over to Jareth upon his arrival.

"Kingy, thank goo-ness you's here. Da madey-babe won' eat nuffin. He jus sittin' over in da corner. No makey noise, no move. We thinked 'e was dead but Broom pokeded him wif a stick an he blinkeded a lil bit."

"Take me to him." Jareth demanded.

Chewy led Jareth through the chaos to the far corner of the room where the tiny goblin sat, nearly motionless, wide saucer eyes staring out into empty space.

"What is his name?" Jareth asked.

"Da madey babe."

"You haven't given him a name?"

"His name 'da madey babe.'" Chewy said.

"No, no. A proper name." Jareth explained, taking a seat on the floor in front of the small goblin. "What have you been trying to feed him?"

"Erryfing! He won eat nuffin!"

Jareth regarded the solemn goblin-child for a moment. "Bring me a cup of milk." he said.

"Milks? Milks not food. Milks drink." Chewy protested.

"Bring it." Jareth ordered as he pulled the nameless goblin onto his lap. "Do you know what I think?" he asked him quietly. "I think you need a name."

The still creature on his lap blinked up at him.

"This is going to be a fragile process, you know." he continued. "Your fellows have some rather disgusting names. Names I'd rather not give you. However, if I name you something too elegant you'll be alienated." he furrowed his brow in thought. "Mottle." he said suddenly. "Is that agreeable?" he asked the goblin-child.

The child blinked.

"Mottle it is." Jareth declared as Chewy returned with the milk.

"Milks." he said, disgusted as handed over the cup to Jareth. "Milks is icky. I don knows any goblins what likes milks."

Jareth tilted the cup of milk towards the small goblin's mouth and he began to drink it eagerly.

"Goblins don drink milks!" Chewy protested loudly. "Dey don! Dey don!"

"This goblin was not always a goblin. He used to be a human child, and human children drink milk." Jareth said. "You must give him milk until he has grown, do you understand?"

"I unnerstan I gots ta give da madey babe milks, but I don unnerstan why."

"Just as long as you understand that you must do it." Jareth said. "And you musn't call him that anymore. His name is Mottle."

Chewy wrinkled his nose. "Mottle? Das a funny name. We calls him Bottle instead?"

Jareth winced. "No."

Khormich observed this scene unnoticed from the doorway, and was more than just a little bit shocked. Had he heard right? Had the small goblin on his cousin's lap really once been... human?

His cousin's foul temper was, as far as Khormich was now concerned, justifiable. He wondered how this had come to pass. Human children did not turn into magical creatures for no reason. Jareth, he reasoned, no doubt blamed himself. In a rare moment of tactful thinking, Khormich decided to let it go. Questioning Jareth, letting him see him, even, would be a mistake. Quietly, Khormich slipped away.

* * *

"You really are beautiful, you know." Jareth said sometime later, after the chaos of the day had worn away. He and Morihana were sitting in the garden under a tree in the dying afternoon light. His world was, for once, completely silent.

"You really are entirely too kind." Morihana said quietly. "I really am quite plain."

Jareth chortled. "Plain in the way that stars are plain, perhaps. Plain in the way that roses are."

"You're too kind." she said again.

Jareth sighed and inclined his head so that it rested on hers.

"The Games draw near." he said after a moment.

"How goes your labyrinth?" Morihana asked.

Jareth began toying with her hair. "Very well, although I have decided to take a small break. My cousin must do his fair share, you know." he smiled. "I'm going to have an incredible amount of free time." he added. "I think that I shall impose upon you to keep me company until I am needed."

"I would be happy to."

"Unless, of course," he whispered into her hair. "_You_ would like to need me."

"I..."

"Because _I _would very much like to need _you_." he said before capturing her lips with his own.

"I think," he began after breaking the kiss. "That we would do very well with needing each other."


End file.
